


Saved By Misery

by Porphyrios



Series: Misery and Vilkas [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Sex Work, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Spoilers, Were-Creatures, creepy pimps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 01:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20958065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porphyrios/pseuds/Porphyrios
Summary: Vilkas is shocked when a handsome (OK, pretty actually) Bosmer appears in the Bannered Mare, and then applies to join the Companions.  As the elf makes it abundantly clear he's interested in Vilkas, VIlkas has to figure out whether his sexuality is that broad.  And why is the Bosmer in Skyrim, anyway?





	Saved By Misery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OpalBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalBee/gifts).

> This work is for OpalBee, because Vilkas deserves a chance to be happy too. :)

Vilkas sat in the Bannered Mare, sulking. Again. He had no reason to sulk, really... the latest contract had gone well, and Kodlak praised him. Even more impressive, Skjor praised him. Praise from Kodlak was like the rain, you knew it would come, but you didn't know when. Praise from Skjor, though... that was like rain in the Alik'r desert of Hammerfell, rare and a nine days wonder when it showed. Vilkas had felt himself flush with pride at the time, even though it was just a few bandits. It had seemed like the day was a special day, a great day, but here he was again, sitting in the same seat he usually took in the small table at the end of the bar. Bored and miserable, same bitter ale, same pinching armor straps, same hard chair. He knew how he must look to the other patrons, surly expression on his face, eyes downcast, dark hair falling into his face and covering his pale silver grey eyes as he stared at the table. At least the heavy wolf armor and trim, muscled frame would show those who didn't know him that he wasn't to be trifled with; the reputation of the Companions was still good enough for that, at least. Those who knew him would stay away already just from the expression on his face.

Vilkas snorted at the sound of a loud, annoying voice from the other end of the tavern. At least he was far away from that crazy wench Uthgerd; gods help whoever got her started. That woman could start a fight with a rock. Had a jaw like one too, he remembered. She called herself the Unbreakable, but Vilkas thought the Impossible would be more accurate. He could hear her cawing at the other end of the bar like an angry crow, mouthing off at someone, audible even over the rumble of conversation as Whiterun's populace unwound for the evening. Apparently she'd found someone she hadn't fought before. Sighing, he stood up to leave. Really, he was going to have to speak to Kodlak about her. It had gotten to the point where you couldn't even come in here to have a drink without the woman starting a brawl with... he glanced at the end of the bar and stopped, a bit shocked in spite of himself.

Standing in front of Uthgerd was a slight-built male Bosmer, but if not for his trimmed goatee, his gender would be unclear, Vilkas thought. The elf looked softer than anyone had a right to be in a brutal place like Skyrim. He was a rich dark bronze-blond, with long wavy hair tied back in a thong. Exactly like a woman's hair, Vilkas thought sourly. He couldn't hear the mer's voice, but he could only imagine it as high and mincing given the womanish appearance of the elf. Clad in rich, silky-looking fabrics with a velvet collar, expensive boots of dark buttery leather completed the look of a foppish dandy. Vilkas sneered. The mer was all too clearly some pampered Southerner visiting for gods knew what reason. He had been about to leave, but maybe he would stay to watch this elf get some good old fashioned Nord instruction. Hedda went to the back to get something, and Uthgerd seized her chance. The burly woman said something truly vile (to judge by the reactions and facial expressions of the people sitting nearby) and stood up, sneering down at the elf, who looked offended and... Vilkas was surprised to notice no trace of fear on the mer's face. Well then, this was going to be surprising to someone, he thought. I wonder who?

The answer was quickly revealed to be 'to everyone'. The fight was over almost as quickly as it began. Despite looking like some overdressed noble, the elf was quicker than a greased skeever. Every punch Uthgerd threw, the mer was just... not there, somehow. He floated out of the path of each of her swings, smiling mockingly in her face, watching her get more and more furious and uncontrolled. Soon she was panting like a bellows, taking great lunges as he continued to drift tantalizingly out of her reach, sometimes floating away at the last second. She feinted left to trick him, then lunged for him, trying to get him in a bear hug, but he sidestepped with consummate grace. She overbalanced and fell heavily onto the floor, taking all the drinks on a nearby table with her along with the table itself. He had almost looked like he was dancing, Vilkas marveled. Despite the exercise, the elf didn't seem the least bit out of breath. Vilkas knew for a fact that Uthgerd was faster than she looked, but she couldn't even... hmm. In spite of himself, and in spite of his disgust with the womanish appearance of the mer, his professional curiosity as a fighter was piqued. At that exact moment, the sound of the crash brought Hedda storming out of the back and she lit into everyone at the bar like a hagraven. Uthgerd was barely off the floor before Hedda had dragged her bodily to the door and booted her out into the street; the stranger was clearly next.

"Friend, come sit with me, quick." Vilkas called out without stopping to think about what he was doing. The elf turned, looking briefly surprised, but seemed to almost teleport across the room. By the time Hedda returned from the door, he was lounging at Vilkas' table, apparently completely at ease, looking like he had been nowhere else for hours. Hedda stormed over, ready to argue, but Vilkas said "Hedda, she started it, you know she did. I'll vouch for the stranger tonight." The mer's eyebrows went up at this statement, but he nodded thankfully, and Hedda had a look of suspicion and incredulity on her face.

"He's with you, is he? This a new Companion, then?" she sneered. "Even if he is, no fighting in the Bannered Mare, I've told you lot that a thousand times!"

Vilkas saw that he wasn't the only one in a bad mood tonight. "No, he's not a Companion. I'd think you'd want word to get out that the Mare was friendly to travelers. My mistake, feel free to beat him up and throw him out." Hedda swelled up with rage and opened her mouth to reply, but half the bar was already calling for refills on drinks. Ever since the Redguard woman who waited tables here vanished one day, Hedda had been overworked. She flung up her hands with a sound of disgust and stomped off. Vilkas shook his head.

Eyeing the elf from under his brows, Vilkas realized that he was even more pretty than he had thought from far away. He hated to use the word, but no other seemed to fit. Pretty was about the only word that would do him justice, goatee and all. His face had none of the strange angles or inhuman cast so many of the various mer had, looking almost human in the flickering candlelight with the exception of the long upswept ears. His eyes were a deep, rich black all the way across, and although it should be disturbing that the mer had no irises or pupils, it matched his face somehow. His skin was almost the same bronze-gold as his hair, but several shades lighter, darker than an Altmer but smooth and unbroken, quite unlike the Nords who inclined to heavy beards and who scarred easily. A previously unseen pendant of a rose cast in silver hung at his neck. Now that he was close, Vilkas could smell his scent, a musky, woodsy smell overlaid with a hint of flowers. In spite of Vilkas, the wolf inside woke and took an interest in the elf; this mer smelled like prey, like the deep woods. The elf was sitting patiently and watching as Vilkas evaluated him, a slight smile on his face. Vilkas felt himself flush as he realized he had been caught staring.

"Uh... welcome." By the gods, he hated meeting new people. Why had he invited this elf over anyway? "That was quite an impressive fight, but you're lucky she didn't land a hit on you. Uthgerd has a fist like a bear." The mer laughed, and Vilkas was astonished to note that his earlier guess had been wrong. Far from the girlish giggle he would have expected, a deep baritone chuckle came from the slender Bosmer.

"Lucky indeed. Is it a custom in Skyrim, then, to beat visitors? Seems a bit inhospitable." The elf's voice was deep and rich, almost bardic in its resonance. He elf smiled, showing perfect white teeth, sharp and predatory. Vilkas was briefly taken aback. Those teeth didn't match the rest of the mer's appearance at all.

"Not all of Skyrim, but Whiterun is known to be a little... boisterous. I'm Vilkas, by the way." He tried to smile and push the remnants of his bad mood away. "What brings you here? Trading?"

"No," the elf said, glancing around. "I came to Skyrim on personal business, but got dragged into local issues. I was basically dragooned into coming to Whiterun to bring a message to the Jarl, but..." The elf shrugged expressionlessly. Giving a little bow in his seat, he said "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm Misery." Vilkas stared at the Bosmer. What kind of person would name their child 'misery'?

"Misery?" Vilkas repeated in disbelief. The elf laughed again, showing those fanglike teeth.

"Ah, this again. Not 'misery', Mees-hah-ree." The elf said his name very slowly this time, emphasizing the slight differences. "It's a compound in Bosmeri, it means 'shadow of fire'. _Mis hari_. Since I came to Skyrim, though, everyone has the same thought. Maybe I should just stick with Misery, though it's hardly a beautiful meaning for a name."

Vilkas laughed in spite of himself. "People around here get confused enough with one language. When others get involved, forget it." The elf snickered. Vilkas continued, "I assume 'local issues' means the dragon attack?" At Misery's nod, he understood. "Even in Jorrvaskr, we heard about it, as if the Greybeards' shouting wasn't enough to wake the dead. Was it true that someone that nobody had ever heard of killed it with Irileth and the guards, and then turned out to be Dragonborn?" Vilkas really hoped not. A Dragonborn was the last thing anyone needed. It was one thing to read tales of Tiber Septim and the conquest of the Empire, but quite another thing to live through such times. Ulfric's stupid war was bad enough without demigods out of the legends wandering around destroying everything.

"Yes, it seems so." The elf seemed distracted for a moment, then cleared his throat. "So I was told anyway. So... you're a Companion, then? That's the second mention of them I've heard. When I arrived in Whiterun, there were three people killing a giant in some poor farmer's cabbage field just outside the city. They advised that I go to... that place you named... and see someone named Kodlak. Do you think I should?" Vilkas looked at the Bosmer in amazement, trying to imagine this courtly ponce as a Companion. While the image of Misery whirling around Farkas or Skjor like he just had with Uthgerd made him want to laugh, he couldn't conceive of the reaction from the other Companions, let alone the general populace of Skyrim.

"I... honestly, I don't think you'd fit in. No offense. We're a pretty rough and ready bunch and you seem awfully..." Ugh, now what to say. Vilkas was supposed to be the one that was good with words, but he had put himself in a corner here. The obvious choices would be rude. Finally he settled for "...civilized." The elf's eyes narrowed a bit. Clearly the implication wasn't lost on him, nor had Vilkas been as discreet as he had hoped to be. Misery's reaction vanished quickly, and he smiled again, all charm.

"Well, you would know better than I. I don't know if I will have time to visit this Kodlak person on this trip anyway. I have to continue my pilgrimage, and this dragon business has dragged me off course." The elf picked at the buttons on his coat, brushing invisible lint off the sleeves. He seemed to almost shine as he did so, becoming more beautiful by the moment. Vilkas wondered if this was some sort of magic spell. He had never seen a man look pretty at all, though many were handsome enough in their own way. Vilkas hadn't ever really been that attracted to men, though he knew some that were; despite a few fumbling encounters with boys his own age, once he reached manhood he had settled firmly on women. If he hadn't been a Companion, he would probably have been married already, but it would hardly be fair to a woman to ask her to marry someone who was never around. Vilkas realized he was sitting and staring at the elf again, and forced his mouth open.

"A pilgrimage? Where are you going? Lots of holy places in Skyrim." Vilkas was aware that he was struggling to continue the conversation, and knew he sounded awkward. Dealing with unfamiliar people was always so difficult. "I meant to ask, where did you learn to move like that? During the fight, I mean... that looked very impressive, but I suspect it wasn't something you figured out on the spot."

"Ah, yes, that. I imagine that would have been interesting to a warrior such as yourself. It's a martial art known as _lokh-an_, I learned it in the temple back home. We don't fight unless we absolutely have to; there's no beauty in most fights, just pain and blood. Where we can, we avoid it, which is what I was doing with that... rude woman." The elf was smiling again, but his eyes were watching Vilkas. Not in a suspicious way, though... what was that look? "Through those movements, we turn what could be ugly into something more lovely."

"I've never heard of it, but I haven't left Skyrim." Vilkas said. "Are you a priest?"

"Yes," said the elf, with no expression. "At least, I was. I seem to have displeased my goddess, however, and she... well. I'm making a pilgrimage to sites in Skyrim where there is tremendous beauty, in the hopes that she will begin to speak to me again." Vilkas was beginning to develop a suspicion of which goddess was under discussion.

"Which goddess?" He asked brusquely. Oh please not...

"Dibella, of course," came the elf's quizzical response, "who else would honor such beauty in the world?" Vilkas could have died of embarrassment on the spot. A priest of Dibella, goddess of prostitutes! And he had called him over... spoken for him... but people would think... oh Ysmir's frozen balls! Without another word, he leaped up from the table and ran out the door, leaving the elf sitting at the table with a dumbfounded expression.

=

By the next afternoon, Vilkas had just about convinced himself that the previous evening's events had passed unnoticed. He had come back to Jorrvaskr the night before and complained to Farkas about the whole misunderstanding. He should have known better. His brother, far from being sympathetic, seemed to find the whole thing absolutely hysterical. After a couple of snide references to Vilkas' "new friend", he snapped at his brother and stormed off to the sound of Farkas' snickering. Vilkas hated fighting with other members of the Circle, because the wolf always felt it was a dominance struggle. To the wolf, everything was a dominance struggle, he thought sourly. Fighting with his brother didn't need additional feelings added to it. After spending the morning in the training yard, Vilkas figured it would be best to seek out Kodlak's advice on how to keep the wolf out of his personal disputes. The old man seemed to understand everything about the wild blood already. As he was explaining his concerns, he was shocked to see a familiar face appear as Misery came down the hall towards the pair. 

The elf's clothes were less extravagant than the previous night, dark blues and greens, but still made of choice fabrics and with a certain cut that didn't speak too highly of the masculinity of the wearer. The long blond hair was braided back today, with two wisps trailing down beside the smooth cheeks, framing the dark eyes perfectly. Just like the night before, Vilkas realized that if not for the goatee, the elf would have made a truly gorgeous woman, then kicked himself for the realization. What the hell was wrong with him?

He pasted a sneer on his face as the mer approached, rebuffing the smile of familiar recognition being directed at him. Misery looked briefly puzzled and mildly irritated, but turned and made a respectful courtly bow to Kodlak. The old man smiled slightly behind his heavy beard. "A stranger comes to our hall," the old Harbinger said, with the expression he got when he was trying to sense the spirit of the one in front of him. Vilkas gritted his teeth, but surely Kodlak would send this perfumed fop away quickly enough.

"I would like to join the Companions," rang out the rich baritone voice, making the request sound like a line from a play.

"Would you now?" came Kodlak's response. The old man's eyes narrowed. "Here, let me have a look at you." The elf stood back and struck a pose, and it was all Vilkas could do not to snort with laughter. What a joke this was. Clearly Misery thought the Companions were a theater troupe instead of a group of hardened warriors. Finally, Kodlak nodded. "Hm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit." Vilkas could have fallen off his chair. Had the old man finally lost his senses?

"Master," Vilkas stammered, shocked, "you're not truly considering... accepting him?" The elf's dark eyes narrowed as they had the night before, but this time Vilkas could actually feel the heat of irritation behind it. Still, Vilkas thought, if the Bosmer hadn't wanted to be offended he shouldn't have forced himself in where he clearly didn't belong. The Companions was a group of serious warriors, the best of the best, not a place for simpering fops and male courtesans... religious or otherwise.

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas." Kodlak had always had a thing about that, as though the Harbinger wasn't the official leader of the Companions. Vilkas knew better than to call him that, and could have bitten his tongue for doing so, but he was so shocked that he had forgotten in the heat of the moment. And now, he thought sourly, I've made it even harder on myself, because the old man will bend over backwards to 'prove' he's not in charge. Gods help us. But Kodlak wasn't done. "And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

"Apologies." Vilkas choked out. "But perhaps... this isn't the time. I've never even heard of this outsider." Vilkas ignored the look of angry betrayal that Misery shot him.

"Sometimes the famous come to us, sometimes men and women come to seek their fame. It makes no difference." Kodlak replied with a mulish expression. With a sinking heart, Vilkas realized that Kodlak might not know the story from last night, but he could tell there was something going on beyond normal concern. Vilkas wished Misery would go away so he could talk to the old man and explain. He didn't have problems with man-lovers! After all, Torvar made his preferences clear and it was completely fine. It was just... it just wasn't appropriate to the Companions to have someone so unlike a warrior as a member. "What matters is their heart," Kodlak declared portentiously.

"And their arm." Vilkas responded, rolling his eyes. Despite Uthgerd's impromptu dancing lesson last night, Vilkas suspected this elf couldn't swing a practice blade, let alone a real sword.

"Of course," Kodlak replied. "How are you in battle, boy?" The mer looked up, and the hard look in those black eyes was quite different than the friendly expression of the night before. Vilkas was afraid he had made a new enemy today, and that was a shame. This was nothing personal, he was just trying to protect the Companions' reputation... and protect Misery's safety, for that matter. The road and battle was no place for some priest of Dibella looking for beauty in the world. Whatever that meant.

"I can handle myself," came the terse reply. Despite the lovely clothes, the soft skin, the elegant hair, Vilkas suddenly realized that the elf might not be bluffing. Well, he suspected what was coming, so he supposed they would see. Sure enough, Kodlak's next words were what he had expected.

"Vilkas here will be the one testing your mettle." The old man turned and looked at him, and Vilkas cringed at the sour look on the old man's face. "Vilkas, take him out to the yard and see what he can do." Whatever happened, clearly another conversation with Kodlak was in the future.

"Aye." Well, that was that. Might as well get this over with. Beckoning to Misery, he said "Come on then, let's go out to the yard." The elf's sigh of irritation was clearly audible. Vilkas avoided meeting his eyes as they made their way outside, but he could feel the mer's anger like heat on his skin. As they passed through the main hall, Athis called out something in Altmer which must have been a taunt, because Misery whipped around and impaled the other man with a glare and said a few words in response in the same tongue which made the dark elf blanch and sit down quickly. Interesting.

When they got outside, Misery said in a low voice, "I see it's not only the custom in Skyrim to beat visitors, but to stab them in the back. At some point I would like to know what I did to deserve such treatment from you, Vilkas." The cold black eyes met his own icy grey ones in a challenge. "But not right now." Vilkas felt an unfamiliar surge of shame, and just nodded once. With a huff of breath, the elf squared off with him.

"The old man said to have a look at you," Vilkas said, "so let's do this." He drew his sword and assumed a guard position and waved at the rack of training weapons. "Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form. Don't worry, I can take it." The elf slipped to the side and grabbed his arm before he knew what was going on; Ysmir, this mer was fast. Before Vilkas knew what was happening, he was flying through the air over the Bosmer's shoulder to land flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. As he struggled to get up, Misery offered him a hand and a toothy grin. This was a different smile than last night, Vilkas noticed. The friendliness was gone, leaving a distinctly sharklike predatory look that he found deeply unnerving. "Not bad," he wheezed, trying to keep some semblance of control, "next time won't be so easy." The elf's snort was clearly audible the length of the yard, as was Ria's snickering. He could hear someone coming up behind him, but had no idea who else was in the yard. "You might just make it. But for now, you're still a whelp to us, new blood." The elf mouthed 'whelp?' soundlessly, knocking Vilkas off his stride yet again. "So you do what we tell you." He finished awkwardly. He had never met anyone who could consistently keep him off balance like Misery. The elf might not think the name fit, but it certainly seemed appropriate enough to him.

Vilkas wondered if the elf could even handle a sword. Misery certainly hadn't gone near the practice blades, and despite his body being hidden by his loose, elegant clothes, he didn't even look like he could swing one. In a fit of inspiration, he realized there was one way to see. He told the mer, "Here's my sword. Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened." Misery's eyes were disbelieving as he accepted the heavy blade. It was obvious from the awkward way he received it that the Bosmer had no idea how to handle a sword at all. Welcome to the Companions, Vilkas thought bitterly. So this is what we've come to. "And be careful, it's probably worth more than you are." He could have bitten his tongue again as soon as the words left his mouth. Why was he trying to antagonize this elf? Especially since he was now a Companion, thanks to Kodlak. Trying to keep him out was one thing, but now that he was in, fighting with him was counterproductive at best, destructive at worst. The disdainful look he got in return was well deserved, he had to admit, despite the flush of irritation it caused him. Watching the Bosmer saunter off towards the Skyforge hauling the hand and a half sword, Vilkas hoped his favorite blade didn't get 'accidentally' dropped in the forge.

He turned to go back into the hall, only to be confronted by Farkas, who was grinning like a fool. In a wave of disgust, Vilkas realized who had been behind him in the yard; now that he thought back, he did remember his twin being at the training dummies when he brought Misery out to the yard. Ysmir's blue balls, could today get any worse? "So, brother" came Farkas' growling voice, "practicing to be a bird? Quite a flight you took out there." He could feel a flush rising up his face, and tried to walk around Farkas to get back into Jorrvaskr. From behind him came a taunting "Wasn't that your new friend from last night?" Vilkas wanted nothing more than to break something. He could feel his eyes starting to shift, but he fought back the wolf and snarled wordlessly as he went through the door. Farkas was right behind him, ready to continue the mockery.

Thankfully, Tilma got between Farkas and Vilkas before his brother could follow him too far. "Oh leave him alone," came the old woman's chiding voice, "for the sake of the gods, you two are worse than an old married couple!" She shook her broom at Farkas, lips pursed. "You're both over thirty, you know, you can stop picking at each other any time. Most children quit this foolishness when they get hair on their lip, but not you two!" In spite of himself, Vilkas had to grin at his brother's hangdog expression. Farkas wasn't terribly bright, and he didn't always know when to quit. They were both susceptible to guilt from Tilma, though, who was effectively their mother and had been for as long as they could remember.

"Yes, Tilma." They both chorused at the same time, and just like that, they were close again. The beauty of the twin bond, Vilkas thought for possibly the millionth time. That someone could be so close and irritate you so much, but one word could be enough to make you remember how much you cared for them. Farkas was stronger, Vilkas was smarter, but together they were more than either of them were alone. With a shock, Vilkas realized that Misery had come back in the hall at some point and was staring at the two of them, face showing surprise. Just the latest in the collection of 'oh, twins!' reactions, he thought sourly. He realized irritably that he should probably find some way to apologize to the elf. While he still felt his motives were honorable, Vilkas was forced to admit that his behavior had been pretty shameful. The Bosmer turned and went downstairs, carrying what looked like a shield. Less than a minute later, Aela was heard yelling for Farkas. A look was enough for the two brothers to trade thoughts, and the twins parted snickering. Vilkas figured this was a good time to go finish his talk to Kodlak and explain his misgivings.

=

As Vilkas was sitting at the table in his room that night reading a tattered copy of Skardan Free-Winter's "A Dream of Sovngarde" a knock sounded at his door. "Enter" he called out, marking his place. He expected it to be his brother, but was shocked when the door opened revealing Misery. The elf was looking at him with a cold expression, and a fresh burst of shame and embarrassment welled up in his mind, but he forced it down. "New blood," he said neutrally.

"Forgotten my name already?" came the tart response. Misery was wearing yet another set of clothes. By the Divines, how many clothes did this elf have? This set was just as lovely as the ones from the previous night, but these were soft and colored various shades of purple, from deepest purple pants to a long tunic with light lavender sleeves and collar on a body of brilliant purple silk. The silver rose was still at his throat. With his immaculately trimmed blond goatee and wavy blond hair up in a complicated tail, the elegant Bosmer looked like an iris in bloom. "I thought I would come and we could chat. I think we need to clear the air a bit." Without an invitation, the elf entered into the room and seated himself gracefully on the bed, since Vilkas was already in the sole chair. The thought of the mer on his bed made warmth rise on Vilkas' face, along with the puzzled realization that everyone else in the Companions could sit on his bed, and did whenever they visited, with no reaction at all. Why was this different? At least the mer had left the door open.

"I... " Vilkas started, then passed his hand over his face. "Yes, that's good. Best. I mean. I think that's best." The elf was watching him, eyebrows raised, as he stumbled around like a drunk looking for words. "I suppose... no, I know... I... shit." He finally swore in disgust. "I owe you an apology. And I do. Apologize, I mean. I didn't think you were a good match for the Companions. Honestly, I still don't. But that was no excuse to act like I didn't know you, and try to... well, to act like an ass." Looking over, he saw Misery sitting with an odd expression on his face. This didn't seem to be what he expected at all. "Anyway, I apologize. And you're a Companion now, and I'll help if I can. So."

"I... see." Came the cautious reply. "Well, I wasn't expecting an apology, but I accept. What a pleasant surprise. Thank you for that." The smooth baritone voice sounded, as always, like something from an actor or bard. "There is beauty in recognizing that we wronged another, even afterwards." Vilkas started involuntarily at this reminder of Dibella. When he glanced away, the reaction wasn't lost on the Bosmer, who huffed out his breath in disgust. "There's no need to act like a guilty schoolboy every time I mention my Lady, Vilkas." The elf was clearly exasperated. "Let me be blunt. I'm not a whore, if that's what you're thinking. Not all of us are courtesans by any means. In fact, for your information, that's only the usual expression of my Lady's service in Cyrodiil and here in Skyrim, not Valenwood or elsewhere." Vilkas could have died of embarrassment, and even though he was generally averse to magic, he wondered if he could learn a spell to make the earth swallow him up if he just tried hard enough.

"No... I... uh... it wasn't... I didn't... I mean..." Vilkas closed his mouth before he could babble any more. The Bosmer's expression was both annoyed and amused in equal measure.

"I thought as much. As soon as I said Dibella's name last night, you took off like a scalded dog. Perhaps I should explain. In Valenwood, there are numerous different sects of Dibella, and each of them chooses to focus on different aspects of Her power." The elf looked over at him, dark eyes shining in the reflected light. "Do you understand what I mean by aspects?" Vilkas had little use for gods, but at his head shake the former priest was happy to explain. "Each of the Divine beings has different faces, different names and forms of worship for each part of their realms of interest. Dibella has Joy, and Beauty, and Lust, and Happiness, and... oh, so many others. My temple and I serve Dibella Eltriel, the Holy Lady of Beauty, and so as her priest (or lay follower, as I find myself lately), I seek to make everything I do, everything I make, everywhere I can decorate into a thing of beauty as an act of worship. Dibella Eltriel isn't known in Skyrim much, but so many of the places here are so full of her power... so much beauty..." the rich voice trailed off. Smiling slightly and looking into space, the elf's face shone with the reflected joy of devotion and Vilkas was almost overwhelmed by how beautiful he looked.

"I... see what you mean." Vilkas managed to say. "And honestly, that's why I thought you would be a poor fit. Uh, for the Companions." The elf cocked an eyebrow in sarcastic disbelief and made a questioning noise. Vilkas felt himself flushing again with embarrassment. "What we do is not... beautiful, Misery. We fight for coin. We defend the honor of people who are too weak, too rich, or too cowardly to defend it for themselves. There's no beauty in taking coin for beating up cheating husbands, or killing bandits, or settling old grievances. It can be a messy, grimy business, and sometimes..." It was Vilkas' turn to stare off into space, though he could feel the elf's attention focused on him. "Sometimes, you come home feeling filthy yourself. When you know the cause is not quite clean, or you've done something you feel like you shouldn't have done just because you were paid to do it." He didn't know why he was telling the Bosmer all this, especially on his first night in the Companions. He barely talked about this with Farkas, let alone new blood that had yet to prove themselves. "People lie about what's going on, they lie about paying us, they just lie. About everything. This life is a better fit for people like me and my brother than for..." he looked over, and the elf was watching him, eyes shining and lips slightly parted, but very obviously also waiting to see what the next words were going to be. "... than for beautiful people wearing beautiful clothes, trying to make the world a more beautiful place." Good gods, where had that come from?

Misery's smile dawned across his face like a sunrise, and even the sharp teeth didn't detract from its splendor. "A compliment, and a tremendous compliment at that. Vilkas, you amaze me, and I'm not easily amazed. But still." The Bosmer stood up and gave a short but elegant bow. "I should be going, before I become too comfortable. It is late, and I thank you for being such a gracious host. I'm so glad we talked." Vilkas tried to smile graciously, but suspected that he looked like he was grimacing in pain. He was forced once again to acknowledge that he had never before met anyone who could make him feel so consistently wrong footed. He was glad the elf was leaving, but also glad to be done with the apology he had been dreading since that afternoon. The mer stood in the door, but turned around in a graceful swirl of fabric for a final word. "But Vilkas..." He looked up at the elf, puzzled. "There is one thing you said that I must take exception with, though it is considered poor form to argue with one's host." He was sure his face showed his confusion, because that last sentence was a lot to unpack. "You implied that you were less beautiful than I. I don't think that's correct. At all." Jet black eyes passed slowly and obviously down Vilkas' body, then back up to his stunned grey eyes. "Good night." And with a last sardonic half smile, he was gone, leaving a shocked Vilkas staring at the empty doorway long after Misery had vanished. Wait, he thought desperately. Did he...? Was he...? After quite a few minutes, he got up, slowly closed his door and prepared for bed, mind whirling. As he lay in bed, tossing and turning in the dark, thinking back over the strange encounter, his last thought was 'what did he mean, too comfortable?'

=

Vilkas woke feeling like living was too much trouble. Exhausted and sore, his body was complaining, but even worse was the way his mind just felt grey and dusty, like there was no point to anything. Even the wolf within felt aimless and empty. By the time he was able to force himself out of bed and dressed, his brother was waiting for him at the entrance to the dining hall, clearly ready to start the teasing up again. After one look at Vilkas' face, though, his twin just nodded and sat quietly beside him. After a quiet meal, Vilkas felt a bit better. The other Companions and whelps were already out in the yard, except Torvar who was finishing up his meal with (Vilkas was disgusted to notice) the early signs of drunkenness already. As if any further demonstration of the twins' bond was needed, Farkas just motioned at the stairs down at the same moment Vilkas realized that he just didn't feel like facing anyone else yet.

They went back down to the bedchambers, Farkas moving silently despite being the bigger of the two. Vilkas followed his twin into his bedroom, taking a seat at the bar which was added to the room long ago for some reason nobody alive could remember. He just grunted when Farkas said "So what's the problem?"

He thought briefly about denying any problem, always his usual method, but he knew Farkas could tell how much of a lie that would be. Even thinking about it made him cringe at the laughter such a false statement would produce. Sighing, he said "I wish I knew." Not a good answer, but the truth.

"You look like shit." Farkas wasn't inclined to pull conversational punches, but this was blunt even for him. "You didn't sleep?" Vilkas shook his head. Even with the black warpaint he usually wore, the bags under his eyes were doubtless visible. Why lie? His twin looked puzzled. "Why? Your job went well. Everyone was happy, even Skjor. You're not hurt. You're eating. Is it the finances?" Vilkas was in charge of doing the books for the Companions, since everyone else except Vignar was useless at mathematics, and the old man's memory wasn't what it used to be. He shook his head morosely.

"No, we have money enough salted away for some time, though contracts are down a bit." Farkas sat back, a bit of relief showing on his open face.

"So what then?" Farkas stared at him with ice grey eyes identical to his own. When they were boys, they had been indistinguishable; even Tilma had trouble telling them apart. Now, though, Farkas was a mountain of muscle and yet moved like a cat. Vilkas, while muscular, stayed lithe and trim, but seemed unable to move silently at all. He hated his relative lack of stealth. He especially hated it when Farkas accused him of walking like a mammoth with a sore toe, but in some ways Farkas was thirty two summers going on fifteen. Unlike Vilkas, Farkas also had an irritating amount of insight, as he demonstrated with the next comment. "Is it the new blood? He looked like he wanted to kill you yesterday in the yard, but I saw him walking down the hall from your room smiling like you had given him the Moon." Vilkas tried to say something to derail that train of thought, but Farkas' face lit up before he could say anything. "I think he likes you." Farkas' face split in a huge grin. "What did you say to him?"

"I didn't say... stop jumping to conclusions, ice-brain." He knew Farkas hated that nickname, but by the gods this was not the way to make him feel better. The answering glower told him how unappreciated the epithet was. Still, the last thing he wanted was even a small struggle with his musclebound brother when he felt like this. "If you must know, I apologized to him. That's why he was so happy."

"Apologized? For what?" As expected, finding out the answer seemed to have derailed the irritation at the rude name.

"When he came to ask Kodlak for membership, I acted like I didn't know him. Even though, you know, I had met him the night before in the Mare. He thought I was stabbing him in the back, pretending not to recognize him." Farkas nodded, face showing that he thought that was a reasonable suspicion to hold as well. "I don't have anything against him, Farkas, I don't know him! Shor's blood, I just don't think he's a good fit for the Companions. If that's a crime, lock me up already."

"Alright," his twin replied. "Why don't you think he's a good fit? Because he didn't need a sword yesterday to hand you your ass in the yard... I'd love to learn the trick to how he did that." Farkas looked down. "Or is it... something else?" Memories of their father Jergen railing about "real men" as opposed to "soft womanly ways" overwhelmed Vilkas for a moment, and he suspected that was what Farkas was remembering as well. Still, Jergen's ridiculous notions had nothing to do with his objections, and he was irritated that his twin might think so. Just the idea that he might have anything in common with that... no, absolutely not.

"No!" Vilkas said loudly, flushing in anger. "It's not... Ysmir's balls, just look at him! Everyone else in the Companions is a warrior! Hell, even old Vignar can swing a sword. The elf's soft as butter, more of a woman than the women we have. Aela and Ria are tough as nails, and I think Eorlund made Njada one night in the forge instead of her being born the usual way. They wear armor, he swans around here in silks and velvets with those elaborate hairdos. He looks like a court dandy, not a Companion. He doesn't even know which end of a sword is sharp, let alone how to use it."

Farkas looked uncomfortable. "Well... he doesn't look or act like the rest of us, that's true." He scratched his nose meditatively. "I'd say it was because he was mer, but Athis doesn't act like that." Vilkas knew better than to point out that Dunmer and Bosmer were totally different from each other culturally, especially since Farkas seemed to be agreeing with him for once. "It was kind of a bad thing to do, though, act like you didn't know him."

"Yes, it was, and that's why I apologized. Now do you see?" Vilkas thought this might be the most annoying conversation he'd had with his brother in months, and wondered why it had seemed like a good idea to talk to him at all. "He was smiling because I apologized and told him he was a Companion now and I would help him if he needed it, that's all." Vilkas hoped that was all. God forbid the ponce was developing... feelings... for him. "What job did you give him, anyway?"

"Oh," Farkas was clearly thinking hard about what he had just been told. "I sent him over to take out the bandits in Swindler's Den. I thought it was a lot to ask new blood to do, especially without a sword. But Skjor said it was a good idea. " Farkas stared off into space for a bit. Vilkas left his twin to think, because he knew from years of experience that Farkas' final judgment on the matter was coming and to interrupt him was to make him start all over. Finally, the larger man shook himself a bit and said "Well I think he seems nice. He was nice to me, anyway. I don't care what he wears. I'm glad the elf is a Companion." Vilkas sighed, but there was no changing his brother's mind once he had made it up. Another person had decided against him, hell, maybe he was wrong instead of them. His train of thought was interrupted when Farkas suddenly interjected "I don't think Skjor likes him very much though."

"Really? Why do you say that?" Interesting, thought Vilkas. Skjor usually backed Kodlak on everything.

"Well..." Farkas looked ill at ease. "Like I said. I thought Swindler's Den was a little tough for a new blood, but Skjor sent him there. Without a sword, too." As if the elf would know which end of a sword had the point, Vilkas thought sourly. "And I think Skjor wants to send him out with me for a Proving already. If he comes back." This was dim even for Farkas, Vilkas thought to himself. A Proving on the second day, when you had only done one task? That's not a Proving, that's a Disproving. Despite his own misgivings, Vilkas felt a twinge of sympathy for Misery. Nobody deserved to be subjected to that sort of danger... still, he reminded himself, the mer had volunteered. This was what being a Companion was all about. He just hoped the elf would live through the lesson. Just then, the second part of his twin's comment sank in.

"With you?" Vilkas sputtered. "But I've always run the Provings! Why..." Farkas shrugged.

"I dunno. Skjor said so. Maybe he thought you had already made up your mind." Farkas' jaw was set. Ah. Well, Vilkas could see Skjor's point. He didn't want Kodlak to claim that there was anything suspicious about Misery failing the trial, so sending him with someone who liked him rather than someone who was already known for thinking he wouldn't make a good Companion made sense. Vilkas made a mental note not to mention anything about it to Skjor, since the older man clearly had matters in hand. He looked up to find pale grey eyes peering at him. He just hoped Farkas would get out of the test safely. His larger brother turned hopeful eyes on him. "So do you feel better?"

"I do, actually." He slung an arm over his Farkas' broad shoulders. "Thanks, Farkas. You always know how to help me."

His twin smiled, relieved to have been helpful. "I try." He said, then grinned widely. "I still think he likes you, though."

"Shut your mouth!" Vilkas swung widely at the burly warrior, knowing it would be blocked. They made their way down the hall like teenagers, throwing fake punches at each other and laughing, with Vilkas' bad mood temporarily forgotten.

=

A week had passed, and Vilkas hadn't seen Misery. He had come back after a few days claiming that the bandit leader in Swindler's Den was dead. Presumably that task was complete, though gods alone knew how he had managed to pull that off by himself. After being told that Skjor was looking for him, the Bosmer thanked Farkas for the news and then announced he had a personal errand to run and he would be back shortly. That was days ago, and still no sign of him. The elf was bold to be absent so much, more than any of the other prospective Circle members; he didn't train in the yard, didn't try to learn any new skills, just came and went as he pleased. As everyone sat down to dinner, though, the door swung wide and Misery wandered in. Skjor quickly waved him over.

"Ah, new blood, come closer." Skjor proceeded to lay out the Proving that he and Kodlak had worked out for Misery. Even though Vilkas knew this was coming, listening to it gave him a bad feeling. Nothing about the situation made any sense, including this convenient 'scholar' showing up and happening to know of a sacred artifact practically in Whiterun's back garden. Ria, Athis and Njada were all furious, glaring at the elf as though he had arranged this Proving for himself rather than being assigned it. All of them had been waiting, some for years, and suddenly a newcomer appears and the way opens up for him? Athis in particular seemed to have it in for the wood elf, though whether that was personal, religious, or some strange Dunmer/Bosmer cultural issue he had no way of knowing. Still, Vilkas thought to himself that that lack of awareness was precisely why none of them had been given the opportunity to advance. A child could listen to this ridiculous farrago and question it; to be envious of someone who was most likely being sent to an unpleasant death was foolish. Farkas left immediately for the Cairn, but Misery seemed to dither for a bit. As Vilkas walked by him, he said softly "This sounds suspicious, be careful" and was rewarded with one of the elf's beautiful smiles. How could a mouthful of razor teeth be so gentle looking? After the Bosmer had left, Vilkas felt like an idiot for saying anything. Well, he asked himself, do you want him to succeed or to fail? Would you rather he was in or out? Make up your mind! Grumbling, he made his way back to his bedroom and the ledgers.

The next day, all of Whiterun was ablaze with the news that the Dragonborn had found a way for the Gildergreen to be restored. Danica was overjoyed, raving to anyone who would listen about how the Dragonborn had gone to get a magical dagger from hagravens then found his way to the Eldergleam sanctuary to fetch her some of the holy Eldergleam sap to revitalize the tree. Vilkas repressed a shudder. Truly, the reborn tree was beautiful, far more majestic than it had been even in Vilkas' childhood when it had last bloomed. The brilliant pale lavender blossoms bobbed in the breeze, and the smell of the tree was everywhere in the city. Still, he hated the idea of a Dragonborn loose on the world again, especially here in Skyrim. Danica was sure that the pilgrims would soon come again, once word of Kynareth's tree being healed spread. Watching the blooms do a graceful dance in the gentle wind made Vilkas think of Misery. If the soft little priest truly is looking for beauty, Vilkas thought, this would be a good place to start. A better place than the Companions, anyway. Vilkas spared a thought for the two, and sent a quick prayer to Talos that whatever happened, his brother return safely from the Proving.

When Vilkas got back to Jorrvaskr, there was still no word of Farkas or Misery. A new contract had arrived while he was out, offering a hundred gold to clear the bandits from Embershard mine near Riverwood. Vilkas laughed at that; he had no idea why bandits kept thinking it was a good idea to settle in that mine. There was nothing there but a forge and some worked out iron deposits, yet they came like fleas to a hound to camp there. Riverwood, though... hmm. It had been a while since he had visited Camilla Valerius' bed, though at the rate word was getting around about her there might be a line by the time he arrived. He knew Farkas had visited there as well, since the twins had no secrets from each other. Farkas even said that he had let her brother Lucan watch from behind the screen when the man asked; that was more than Vilkas was willing to do. Some things needed to remain private, by the gods! People were truly strange. Still, he thought, maybe a visit to her could be enjoyable and allow him to leave some tension behind in the most pleasant way. He tucked that contract into his desk and sorted the rest. The usual foolishness, thrashings and animals and bandits, he thought sourly. It never changes. Vilkas had a brief vision of himself at Kodlak's age, sitting at this same desk, sorting the same scraps of dirty paper into piles for bandits, animals, beatings, and shuddered. Gods, please don't let my life go like that! A shout came from upstairs, and Vilkas immediately heaved himself up out of the chair to see what the commotion was.

As he came out of the stairwell, chaos met his eyes. Farkas was back, Misery in tow, and... Ysmir's frozen hands, they had the fragment of Wuuthrad! Misery was hurt, gauging by the number of people standing around gawking. Vilkas strode across the room, making eye contact with his brother and trying his best to show his delight that his twin was whole and safe. He got a half-smile and a squint in response, along with a back and forth hand gesture which spoke volumes. Serious problems, then, but they had been handled. Good. Skjor was sitting in his usual spot at the head of the feasting table looking disgruntled, and threw Vilkas a surprised look as he walked directly over to the elf.

For the first time, Vilkas saw Misery looking less than perfect. It seemed somehow wrong, though it was nice on some level to know that the mer could look messy occasionally like everyone else. The elf looked tired and drawn, his bronze skin slightly grey in cast. His once-elegant clothes were tattered and covered in blood and gods alone knew what, and his hair was askew, several strands pulled out of the silver ring that had been used to pull it back. Black eyes opened wearily, and the smile was much more tired than usual. The voice was still the same smooth theatrical baritone as ever, though. "Ah Vilkas," the elf said in a sardonic tone, "I hope the children haven't misbehaved too badly while I was away. The market is terrible this time of year, you wouldn't believe the competition for fresh leeks." In spite of himself, Vilkas snorted with laughter.

"I see they didn't stab you in your sense of humor," Vilkas said drily. "We have some healing potions around here if you need them." The Bosmer waved the idea away languidly with one hand while Farkas gave an uncharacteristic loud laugh.

"He used to be a priest, remember?" Farkas said loudly. "He's been healing himself since we left the Cairn. I think he's just used too much magic." Vilkas watched Misery's face as the elf closed his eyes wearily and shook his head. Of all the ways to bring out the truth about the elf's former life, Vilkas figured this was about the worst. Poor Farkas, sometimes he just spoke without thinking, and this was one of those times. At his words, Athis' head snapped up from where he was sitting, and his red eyes narrowed, then widened. Vilkas didn't know what was going on, but clearly the Dunmer had just added up a column of figures and gotten an answer he didn't like at all. He sprang to his feet and strode over to the Bosmer, who looked up warily.

"A priest, is it?" Athis' crimson eyes glittered angrily. "What sort of priest, I wonder?" He poked the other elf's shoulder, getting a wince and glare in response. "Auri-El? Jone? Jode?" Everyone else was watching in shock, even Njada, who had little use for elves in general and Misery in particular. It was unheard of for the usually quiet Dunmer to get worked up like this. Aela would be livid that she missed this show. "The Wilderking maybe? Oh, I know, I bet it was Baan Dar!" Athis drew himself up in front of the splayed Bosmer to glare spitefully.

"You're awfully knowledgeable about the religions of Valenwood, cousin," came the drawled reply. Misery's tired face was smiling sweetly, showing no sign of what he was thinking beyond amused tolerance. "I had no idea you were so well traveled, or I'd have stopped by to visit before now. Always nice to speak of home."

"Show me your shoulders, _cousin_," came the response. Misery kept smiling but his face was frozen now. All the gentleness had leached out of his smile somehow, and it had gone from a pleasant expression to the baring of fangs.

"I can't imagine what you think you will gain by seeing my body..." Misery responded archly. "Other than the usual thrill, I suppose." He winked, causing Athis to roll his eyes and sneer.

"I expect to see some interesting tattoos, now that you mention it. Farkas, did you see him with no shirt during the Proving?" Athis rounded on Farkas, who was looking at him in confusion. At the larger man's headshake, Athis looked like he was about to continue but Skjor spoke up from where he sat at the end of the feast table.

"I think we've heard about enough of this." The older man said in an icy voice. "Misery recovered the fragment of Wuuthrad, and has passed his Proving. When he feels better, we will induct him into the Companions formally. Some of you," his cold glance landed on Athis, "would do well to work on training yourselves instead of digging in the past of others." Athis looked furious, but Skjor's next comment rocked him backwards. "A lot of people have pasts that don't bear digging into, don't you think, Athis?" The Dunmer shot the older man a shocked look, but nodded and fled. Ria got a curious look on her face, but Njada and Torvar both just nodded and looked down at the table. It was very clear that the discussion had reached an end.

The Bosmer's rich voice broke the tension in the room. "I apologize. I shouldn't have reacted so strongly, I can only plead weariness from my recent ordeal. What he clearly suspects me of is membership in a forbidden priesthood, the worship of one of the daedric princes. I assure you, I do not worship daedra, nor have I ever done so." Misery took a deep breath like a warrior bracing for a hit. "My goddess is Dibella Eltriel, Holy Lady of Beauty, and I will not apologize for it. I am proud of my Lady and my faith." The elf drew himself up in the chair proudly, but an embarrassed look flitted across his face. "However... I also would like to say that I don't worship my Lady in the same way that her followers here in Skyrim do, so please don't think I'm available for... such activities." In spite of himself, Vilkas was embarrassed for the wood elf. As he did the first night, he wondered why on earth a member of Dibella's priesthood would come to a place where people had such strong assumptions about what that would mean. Surely there had to be easier places to make a pilgrimage.

"Man's religion is his own business," Skjor said gruffly, glaring around himself at everyone as though he expected them to disagree. "It's between him and the gods." Vilkas thought he still looked somewhat shocked to find a priest of Dibella in the Companions. Which took some balls, Vilkas snorted, given the werewolves of the Circle's complicated relationship with Hircine... speaking of Daedric princes. Skjor grimaced in what appeared to be embarrassment. "But... and I think I speak on Kodlak's behalf here as well... if you could not... well... bring people back to Jorrvaskr for... you know..."

"Oh by the First Tree!" Misery looked appalled, another first for Vilkas to see. "As I just said, there won't be any other people brought anywhere with me, by me, or for me. That is not how we worship in Valenwood!"

"Oh!... er, good. Good. That's... yes, that's good." Said Skjor, still looking uncomfortable. "Just, you know, if it should be a thing... The reputation of the Companions... discretion is..." The elf hung his head in disgust, but then nodded emphatically.

"Yes, absolutely, no bringing people back here. Exactly as you say, Skjor. Awkward for everyone, wouldn't dream of it." Misery was sitting with one hand covering his eyes, clearly having given up on making himself understood. Skjor nodded and smiled stiffly, glad to have reached what he thought was a clear understanding. Vilkas thought that he hadn't felt so much vicarious embarrassment since Farkas get caught masturbating by Tilma, and that was seventeen years past. After this painfully awkward scene, Farkas and Vilkas were soon the only ones left with Misery as the rest of the people in the room suddenly remembered other places to be. Skjor made his excuses and went downstairs, muttering something about Kodlak. A small, petty part of Vilkas was glad not to be the only one caught wrong-footed by the elf, though.

Once the others had gone, he rounded on his twin brother. "Farkas! Have you lost what wits you have completely? What the hell was that?" At his brother's shocked and confused stare, he said "You don't just shout out that someone used to be a priest, or anything else! It's not your story to tell." The elf looked up with a grateful expression on his face, though traces of the earlier humiliation were still present.

Farkas stayed confused for a moment, but then understanding slowly dawned on his face. "Oh," Farkas said abashedly. "Uh... sorry?" he glanced at Misery, who sighed.

"Well, it was bound to come out sooner or later. No harm done, I suppose." The elf shook his head. "I just wish that people here didn't... well, nevermind. They do what they do, and that's an end to it."

"But you're a good healer!" Farkas insisted. "I don't know why it would be a problem! You're at least as good as Danica. Besides, that light thing you did was..."

"Alright, thank you Farkas, you're very kind." The elf interrupted hastily, eyes suddenly looking slightly panicked. "I think we've had enough about my priestly ways for one night, if you don't mind." Vilkas made a note to ask his twin about what the 'light thing' was at the soonest opportunity. Along with how he fought without a sword. And what happened in general. Come to think of it, there was a lot to ask Farkas about.

No sooner had Vilkas had the thought than Farkas stood and said "Well, I'm headed out too. Got to see someone about something." Vilkas laughed inside; this was Farkas-speak for 'meeting a woman for sex'. He wondered who on earth in Whiterun was getting a knock on the door tonight at this late hour, but he would find out soon enough. He supposed his twin didn't need an invitation along to Riverwood, then.

"Have fun, brother." The grin he got in return said that Farkas knew full well Vilkas had understood him correctly. With his customary silent steps, Farkas left and the thunk of the door to Jorrvaskr closing was loud in the silence. He looked over to see Misery looking at him quizzically.

"I think I missed something there." the elf said in a slow voice.

"It's not important." Vilkas responded. Unlike Farkas, he didn't feel the need to volunteer other people's business in normal conversations. "I did have a question for you though, especially after tonight's, um, interesting discussion." The elf's burst of laughter was both loud and undignified. "Why did you decide to make a pilgrimage here of all places? Surely there had to be easier places to find pretty things to see where you wouldn't have the prejudice against Dibellans to worry about." Vilkas realized too late that this might be as personal and importunate a question as Farkas' earlier blurted revelations. "Not that it's my business, if you don't want to answer."

"No, it's a fair question," came the soft reply. Misery looked into the fire, reflected flames dancing in his dark eyes. "I was... hm, how to put this. I was sent here specifically. I think." Vilkas noted absently that even at its softest, the elf's voice still had an impressive resonance. Now that he knew the history, though, it made as much sense to be a priest's voice as a performer's.

"You think?" Now Vilkas was confused.

"It's complicated." The elf sighed, twining a lock of dark blond hair idly around his finger with one hand. "Dibella has a priestess who makes prophecies, called the Sibyl. She speaks with the goddess' voice, essentially. Assuming the goddess wants to speak, which isn't always the case by any means." Misery chuckled. "Often she won't say anything, and even if she does, she's often obscure. Her prophecies are like riddles. Anyway..." The elf shifted and grabbed a sweetroll off the table nearby and started picking at it, eating tiny bits of it. "I had joined the priesthood some time back. At first, things were going well. After a few months, I started to have a sense that, well, that Dibella was speaking to me directly. It's hard to explain. The temple elders thought that maybe one day I might be like the Sibyl myself. But about a year ago..." The Bosmer's eyes closed as if he was in pain. He took a deep breath, then continued "I'm sorry, this is a little difficult for me to speak of. About a year ago, my awareness of the goddess just... stopped." Misery pushed the remains of the sweetroll away, having clearly lost his appetite. "It was like if you woke up one morning deaf; imagine going to bed with everything sounding normal and then waking up to just... nothing." Vilkas thought this sounded horrible to contemplate, let alone experience. "So I went to the Sibyl, which was a journey all on its own. And Dibella actually spoke to me, she gave me a prophecy:

_Shadowed by the dragon's wing, the Eye now lost_  
_From beauty's temple fled, new balance sought_  
_Divided heart, divided mind, divided thought_  
_A wolf at your throat resolves all in the frost._

"And here I am." The elf spread out his hands and blinked soberly.

"That's... amazing." Vilkas thought this sounded like something out of a storybook. It was all a lot to take in, but as an intellectual exercise, this was the sort of puzzle that made him so good at riddles. "So you come to the place of frost, Skyrim, and you are greeted by a dragon. The wolf at your throat sounds dangerous, unless... wait, the Companions' wolf armor?" The elf smiled radiantly and shrugged.

"I thought the same thing as soon as I saw it. It's why I joined. At least it's a safer place to start than risking being eaten by wild animals, just in case." The elf's long, elegant fingers picked at the hem of his shirt where it was torn. Vilkas was still surprised to see the Bosmer looking so... normal, when he was used to the elaborate outfits and perfect presentation. "I am fairly certain that the Eye is Dibella's Eye, a blessing she gives to her priests. I'm not allowed to say much about it, but it gives certain benefits to the minds of the priest, and... I don't have those any more. It went at the same time as Her voice. I definitely fled from beauty's temple, and the third line, well, that's what I feel like. Everything I used to be and everything I am seem to be divided, almost fighting. The dragon bit is... sort of complicated, though." The Bosmer looked uncomfortable and somewhat pensive.

"I understand that divided feeling better than you might think." Vilkas said soberly. He couldn't talk about the wolf with Misery, but... he knew all too well what it felt like to be divided, one part demanding something and another part demanding its opposite. The constant struggle to avoid shifting, to not be around blood and fear, to not dream every night of the Hunt. Sometimes it felt like Vilkas' whole life was that struggle against himself.

Dark eyes lidded seductively and full lips quirked up. "Do you?" Vilkas flushed, realizing that without context he had given the entirely wrong impression.

"No, I mean... gah! I'm just used to wanting things I can't have, that's all." He realized as soon as the words left his lips that this was the wrong thing to say as well. The elf was grinning at him maddeningly, eyes dancing. "Oh for the love of Talos! Nevermind. I'm going to b... going downstairs. Good night." Vilkas wished that the elf would leave Jorrvaskr again just so he could stop having these horribly awkward conversations where nothing came out right. Before he got to the stairs, he had another thought and turned around. He almost didn't speak when he saw the expression on the Bosmer's face, but he spoke anyway. "I'm not much on riddles and gods and prophecies, but... maybe you should seek out this Dragonborn everyone is talking about. It's terrifying to think of someone with that much power loose in Skyrim, but at least he might be able to give you some advice. He cared enough about the gods to heal the Gildergreen. Danica talks about him like he's some sort of demigod. Maybe he could advise you on how to please your goddess again." Vilkas frowned at the thought of a new Tiber Septim running around Skyrim, destroying things, but if he could help Misery, why not give it a try? 

Misery gave him a rather strange look and said "Actually..." but then his face changed. Finally the elf looked away and said "That's... a very interesting idea. I'll certainly consider it. Thank you, Vilkas." He nodded and went to his bed, pleased to end the conversation on a less awkward note.

=

The next morning, Vilkas woke in a decent mood for once. He got up, whistling, and took the contract for Riverwood with him as he went to breakfast. Misery was sitting upstairs at the table with the other Companions, and seemed to be interacting normally with everyone... Vilkas thought it spoke well of the others that there was no lingering awkwardness from the previous night's dramatic outbursts. Athis seemed cool but then he always did, and he was civil enough when someone spoke to him. Kodlak was sitting in his big chair, watching everyone eat but not eating himself - odd, Vilkas thought. As soon as he finished his meal, he stood to go tell Skjor he was headed to Riverwood but Kodlak called the Companions outside for the swearing in ceremony for Misery.

Listening to his brother fumble through the time-honored lines to welcome a new member, Vilkas kept his face clear of his doubts, but he still wondered how the elf was going to fit in. No point in wondering now, though; the die was cast. He'd live or die as the gods willed. Vilkas just hoped nobody else would get hurt if Misery didn't work out. He made a mental note to ask Misery to accompany him on some jobs now that he was a Companion, preferably some easy ones. That way he could judge the elf's fighting skills for himself. He gave the Bosmer a welcoming handclasp as everyone crowded around to welcome the new member, but Kodlak quickly grabbed Misery and dragged him away to talk to him. "Off on a local job, be back tonight," he told his brother as he headed out. A grunt and a nod was the reply.

The bandits in Embershard were truly pathetic. He wondered why there was a bounty at all, a child could have routed this sorry lot. Within fifteen minutes, Vilkas had them cleared and tossed the cave for anything worth taking. They had a decent amount of gold, and he was delighted to realize that it was enough to pay Camilla's fee. He also found an elegant silver and amethyst ring made in a pattern of ivy leaves around the stone. She might like it as a present. Still, the bandit gear was pathetic and they had barely even had time to dig any iron. It would have been a waste of a trip, except for the side benefits of being so close to Riverwood. Vilkas smiled to himself, then suddenly frowned. Sniffing, he realized that he could use a bath. Easy enough in a cave full of running water, he thought, and stripped on the spot. The cave water was icy, but he was able to get the sweat and filth off in the freezing water and besides, he thought proudly, all true Nords were immune to cold, at least piddling cold like this. He remembered the time a year ago that an Imperial sergeant bet one of his Nord soldiers that he could stay in the river longer than the soldier could... he remembered the blue, shivering wreck they pulled out of the river seconds after the man had dived in confidently. Vilkas knew that wherever the Nord soldier was, he was still getting free drinks on that story. Laughing again at the memory, he dried himself off as best he could and dressed himself.

When he arrived at Riverwood, he saw Faendal come out of the door of the Traders and shook his head. Faendal and one of the local boys both seemed smitten with Camilla, despite knowing exactly what she did for a living. Not only was the wood elf seriously odd looking, he didn't seem to understand that Camilla wasn't likely to settle down with anyone, least of all a Bosmer with no real job and no prospects. Hunting and working at the local lumber mill wouldn't even impress most Nord village women, let alone an Imperial from Cyrodiil... even if she was for sale. Looking at Faendal, Vilkas was forced to wonder about the variation in Bosmer features; the archer was clearly the same type of mer as Misery, but all similarity stopped there. Faendal wasn't even handsome, let alone as beautiful as... Vilkas snorted at his own train of thought. For that matter, the same was true of humans... Eorlund the smith and Balgruuf were both Nords, but they looked as different as chalk and cheese next to each other. Shaking his head, he went into Riverside Traders.

"Welcome to Riverwood Tra... oh, it's you." Lucan's hearty welcome turned sultry as soon as he recognized Vilkas, sending a shiver of distaste up his back. "Well hello, Vilkas. Long time." The Imperial was handsome enough in his own way, Vilkas supposed, if you liked men, but his lips were far too large and his manner was just... creepy. There was no other word for it. Vilkas was surprised to see that the golden claw that was usually mounted on the wall was down on the counter.

"Lucan," he greeted the trader in a neutral tone of voice. "Why's your claw off the wall? You should put it somewhere safe before it gets stolen." He looked around for Camilla, hoping she was around or would be back soon. He didn't want to be one of the men hanging around here all afternoon. It would reflect poorly on a Companion, even if Lucan wasn't so disturbingly lustful with the looks he gave him. "Is Camilla around?"

"Funny you should mention the claw," Lucan said. "It actually did get stolen a little more than a month ago. A wood elf came through a week or so later and brought it back. No idea how he got it out of the thieves at the barrow, but he just showed up with it the next day." Lucan licked his overlarge lips slowly, making them glisten. Vilkas looked away in disgust. What a distasteful little man. "He was a very, very handsome elf too. Not usually into mer types, but... Hmm." It must have been Misery, Vilkas thought. How many 'very, very handsome' elves could be wandering around this corner of Skyrim? It certainly wasn't Faendal, he thought with a snort. At that moment, Camilla came down the steps, tugging her skirt back into line. She looked up and saw Vilkas. Her cold eyes widened for a moment appraisingly, but then her face relaxed into a professional smile.

"Vilkas! I haven't seen you in too long. I thought you'd forgotten about me." She said in a sweet, almost girlish voice, then giggled. "Always glad to see the wolf armor around, I feel so much safer when I have Companions." That joke was older than Kodlak, but Vilkas faked a weak smile. "Why don't you come up and... visit?" She turned and headed back upstairs, smiling back over her shoulder as she went. Lucan was staring at him, and he could feel the man's eyes crawling over him as he climbed the narrow steps. When he reached the top, Camilla met him at the door, rolling her eyes. "Sorry to bother you with this, but..." she whispered, pressing herself against him. Vilkas sniffed instinctively and the wolf suddenly made him want to recoil. He could still smell Faendal on her, even through the perfume she had undoubtedly put on just before coming downstairs. This place was hell to the wolf, since it could smell rivals everywhere in the room. The smell of another man on her skin combined with the heavy odor of jasmine to make his head swim, and he sneezed before he could help himself. "Oh, health to you. As I was saying," Camilla went on, "Lucan told me to let you know, you could have anything you wanted half price if he could watch, no charge if he could be with us. If he watches, he promised he would stay behind the screen, you wouldn't even know he was there. But you know he has a serious... thing for you." Half-price, no wonder the constantly short on money Farkas let him watch! Vilkas was sure his face gave a clear answer, but he spoke anyway.

"Definitely not." Vilkas took off his heavy breastplate, closed the door, and set it propped up against the entrance as a sort of rudimentary alarm in case of intruders... or voyeurs. "I told you, I don't like to be watched, and I'm not interested in Lucan." He met her gaze directly to make his point, serious ice grey eyes locking with cold, calculating green. "At all." She smirked in response.

"I told him you'd say that," she said, unfastening the simple ties along the side of her dress and sliding it off. "But," she grasped his hard length firmly with one hand, making him grunt, "a lot of men like what he can do with his mouth, if you ever change your..."

"Gods, woman, that's more than enough talk about your brother! Come here," he said, and bent her over the bed to the sound of her laughter. By the time he left, he had had her twice, once hard and fast over the foot of the bed, and again, more slowly, seated in one of the hard wooden chairs in the room. He left the bag of bandit's gold on the dresser, and gave her the ring himself. By luck, it fit, and she swore to cherish it for the rest of her life. Vilkas was no fool; he knew it would more than likely be sold by tomorrow, but these were the games all courtesans had to play, it seemed. Lucan watched him intently as he left, wearing the expression of a dog seeing a piece of meat just out of its reach. Camilla's other would-be suitor Sven glared at Vilkas angrily from the porch of the inn as he came out of the Traders, making him chuckle. He wondered if Sven let Lucan watch from behind the screen, and the thought was enough to make him laugh out loud.

As he walked out of Riverwood towards Whiterun, Vilkas realized that he needed another bath. He would take one at Jorrvaskr, he decided, where he could change his clothes as well. His body definitely felt more relaxed after the visit to Camilla, but as usual the sordid nature of the whole encounter left his mind feeling soiled and ugly. Like most Nords, Vilkas was fairly open about his approach to sex, but even in spite of that, he had always had the feeling that it should be something special, not like... well, like whatever that was earlier. The afternoon's exertions were about as special as scratching an itchy leg, even discounting the unpleasantness of Lucan leering and drooling at him coming and going. Paying for it added a whole different level of discomfort; commerce could ruin anything pretty quick. The Companions' life was a difficult one, but others had settled down, after all. Not for the first time, Vilkas wished that he could find someone to settle down with, someone that was more than a quick hump for coins. Someone who understood him. Who he could talk to like he talked to... With shock he realized that other than Farkas, the only other person he had really enjoyed talking to in quite a while was Misery. Despite the awkward edge to their chats, the elf was amazingly good company. He seemed to feel a connection with the Bosmer that he didn't have with others, telling him things he rarely spoke of even with Farkas. He couldn't help but wonder why he felt such an unexpected closeness. It wasn't like the Bosmer hadn't made his interest obvious, Vilkas thought awkwardly. But being a man... he wished the elf were female. No matter how good the company, he wasn't sure he could find a man sexually appealing. If he was being honest, though, Vilkas had to admit, if he had found a woman that he felt that sense of connection with that he seemed to share with the elf, he would have been courting her already. No matter how many times he tried to force the thought from his mind, it kept returning. He chewed on the problem the whole way back to Whiterun, but if there was a decent solution he couldn't find it.

When he came into Jorrvaskr, it was late, Steward Avenicci having proven somewhat evasive for paying out the contract. Funny how Whiterun and Falkreath both claimed the mine when it was working, but each expected the other hold to handle any problems with it. Typical politicians. As Vilkas came into the hall, everyone was finishing up dinner. He took the coin for the completed job to Skjor, though the older man told him 'add it to the books' like always. Vilkas knew that would happen, it always did, but he was a stickler for protocol and nobody would say that he didn't follow the rules. He went over to his chair and sat next to his brother. Farkas sniffed deeply once and gave a wide grin.

"Riverwood, eh?" came his twin's growling voice, half smile still on his face. "Didn't tell me there was a contract there." Misery was watching the two of them closely from across the room, brows drawn down slightly. The elf was staring at Vilkas like something was different.

"Aye," Vilkas said with a smirk at his brother. "Bandits in Embershard, don't you know." Farkas' loud snort of laughter caused several of the Companions to look up from their food. They were used to the brothers speaking what amounted to a private language, and quickly returned to eating. Misery seemed very focused on the twins' conversation, however, watching and seemingly listening intently. Vilkas wondered what the elf was thinking. He suddenly realized he was ravenously hungry, and started filling his plate and shoveling food into his mouth. Once he'd eaten a mouthful of food, he said "I need a bath."

"I'll say," Farkas growled with a chuckle. "You reek of jasmine and..." Vilkas' incredulous glare shut him up before he could finish the sentence. Shor's bones, was there anything Farkas wouldn't just blurt out? With a grimace, his twin said "Uh... yeah. There should be water left in the bathing room. If not, let me know and I'll help you carry some in." Misery's face went from puzzlement to combined betrayal and disgust as Vilkas watched. The Bosmer stood abruptly with none of his usual grace. Vilkas noticed that the previous night's disarray had been completely repaired. The elf was resplendent in an emerald green tunic and crimson trousers, silver rose clearly displayed, hair artfully half-braided to offset and frame his beautiful face. A beautiful face which, at that precise moment, bore an expression which could curdle milk.

"Good night," the mer told those sitting next to him in a clipped voice and headed at speed for the door to the hall. He didn't so much as glance over at Vilkas as he left. Even Athis stared at the door in surprise at this uncharacteristically rude departure, and the younger whelps looked around at each other wondering what had happened to drive off the wood elf so suddenly. Finally they shrugged and resumed their previous bantering chat.

Farkas cleared his throat, and Vilkas noticed the concern on his twin's face. "Uh, let's go... um... see about your bath water." Farkas said awkwardly. Vilkas sighed and nodded. He supposed now was as good a time as any to find out what the hell was going on, assuming his brother knew. One thing he was certain of was that his bath water was not on his twin's list of concerns. Vilkas supposed that it should be comforting that no matter how hopeless he felt at conversations, his brother was often worse.

No sooner had they entered the bathing chamber than Farkas closed the door and wheeled around. "We need to talk about the new blood."

"I gathered as much from the fit he just threw in the hall. What's going on?" Vilkas figured they could talk while he bathed. Sure enough, there was enough water for a nice bath, and it was much warmer than the icy pond in the cave he bathed in earlier. He started filling the two tubs in the center of the room as Farkas paced back and forth.

"He um... well, when we went for the Proving, he sort of... saw something." Vilkas realized his twin was actually flushed with embarrassment, which didn't happen often at all. Farkas' downcast eyes and body language provoked an ugly suspicion.

"Saw something? Saw what? Farkas, you didn't sleep with him, did you?" Vilkas couldn't imagine that his brother would do that, he didn't like men any more than Vilkas, but he was also hard pressed to explain what else might provoke this extreme reaction. He also felt a little jealous, which was unexpected, and not particularly pleasant.

"No! Gods, no!" Farkas laughed, shocked, and sat down on stool set against the wall. Vilkas laughed too at the expression on his twin's face, a little relieved in spite of himself. "No, he... um, the whole Dustman's Cairn thing was a trap. We got there and the place was full of Silver Hand." Vilkas stopped filling the wash tub in shock, bucket of water forgotten in his hand.

"Silver Hand? By Ysmir, but how did you get through it? Can Misery even fight? What happened?" Vilkas now wished that he had cornered his brother this morning before he went to Riverwood. For that matter, Farkas should have told everyone last night. The Silver Hand was a band of dangerous lunatics, essentially the Dark Brotherhood for werewolves, and having them come after the Companions was serious business indeed.

"Yes, he can fight, that's not the problem. But he got trapped in a cage and six of them ambushed me and I sort of... um... changed in front of him." Farkas' eyes were still dropped in shame. "I didn't even think about it."

"You didn't... Farkas, I swear your head could fall off and you wouldn't even notice! It's not like you use it for anything." Vilkas blew out a breath and attempted to calm his initial furious response. His twin tried to glare back at him, but couldn't because he was so miserable. "Does anyone else know that you shifted in front of him? What did he say? He didn't tell anyone, did he?"

"He asked about it and I told him it was a secret. He said that he understood and he would keep it quiet. I told Kodlak when I got back and the old man talked to him today. It should be fine... I hope." Farkas was so upset that he whined like a wolf and ducked his head. Vilkas was still angry but it was very hard to be mad at a whimpering Farkas.

"Gods, Farkas." Vilkas shook his head in disgust. "What a mess, brother. What a bloody mess." He finished filling the tubs and stripped. Now that his clothes were coming off him, he realized that Farkas was right, the shirt he had been wearing under his armor really did reek of Camilla's vile jasmine perfume. She must have bathed in the stuff. Another wave of self-loathing swept over him for having sex with someone under such circumstances. He clambered into the wash tub and dipped his head in the water to wet his hair, scooping out two fingers' worth of the rough lye soap from a nearby pot to wash himself.

"I'm sorry, Vilkas. I didn't mean to do it." Farkas shook himself suddenly and looked up. "Oh, but that wasn't the only thing." Arkay's grinning skull, Vilkas thought tiredly, there's more? He made a 'get on with it' gesture, and Farkas looked uncomfortable again. "The elf, Misery, we talked. While we were traveling to the Proving. About you."

"Me? Talked about... do I even want to know?" He scrubbed himself with the harsh lye soap, taking care not to leave it on too long. Clean was nice, but having skin was nice too. 

"I was just joking when I said he likes you before, but... he really does. He likes you a lot, as in romantically likes you." Vilkas sort of knew that already, but even so having his brother say it out loud was still shocking for some reason. He was about to ask why Farkas thought so, but the answer came before he could get the words out. "He was asking a bunch of questions about you, what you liked, what you didn't like, what you thought was important in life, and I asked him why." Farkas' pale grey eyes met his identical ones. "He just came right out with it. Looked at me and said 'he's the most attractive man I've ever seen'. I told him you didn't like men like that, and he was a little upset but just said he hoped I was wrong." Farkas looked at him with a hangdog expression. "I know you don't, but I sort of wish you did. He's really nice."

Vilkas didn't know what to think. Of all the situations that he wouldn't have thought possible, that his twin brother would be telling him that he wished Vilkas was interested in sex with men was pretty high on the list of inconceivables. But yet here they were. "I..." he stopped. Honestly, he didn't even know what to say. "Alright. That's... interesting." His first instinct was to get angry, but that wouldn't help. His second was to make a joke of it, which might. "I'm more likely to sleep with him than with that disgusting Lucan Valerius, I'll tell you that." He laughed, catching Farkas' eye, hoping he would laugh too and dispel some of this awkwardness.

No luck. Farkas just sighed. "It's not something to joke about, Vilkas. He seems serious about this. And I don't want to see him get hurt. He's a good person, I can tell." Vilkas was amazed. His brother didn't take to many people, and yet within a week, he had decided that Misery was worth recommending to his brother for... what exactly? It might be possible for this night to get stranger, he thought, but damned if he could figure out how. He had to admit, though, in thirty two years he had never seen Farkas' instincts be wrong about someone. If his twin said that the elf was a good person, he really was. Farkas' face fell even further into misery. "And it's my fault that he knows you were with Camilla, now. I hurt his feelings and I didn't mean to. I can't seem to keep my mouth shut. I'm so stupid sometimes."

"You're not stupid." Vilkas would have normally hugged his brother, but realized that he was still sitting naked in a tub of dirty, soapy water. He quickly stood up and stepped into the rinse tub, dipping his hair under the water and trying to get the soap out of his chest hair, then scrubbing the last of the slick film off his arms and legs. "You just don't always think about what you are saying. You're a good man, and you know it. Better than I am, for sure."

Farkas smiled gratefully at the comforting words, but shook his head stubbornly. "I think you should talk to him about this. I mean it, he really likes you."

Vilkas was still reeling from the utter strangeness of this whole conversation. "So, if it was you, what would you do? You don't like men either. Would you let a man court you or... whatever?"

After a few long moments, Farkas replied hesitantly "Yeah... maybe." Vilkas realized that what he had just thought impossible had come true. He hadn't thought the night could get any more bizarre, but sure enough, it had found a way to do so. By this point he wasn't sure this wasn't all some weird dream.

"Seriously? You mean that? You really would?"

"Yeah." Farkas sounded more secure in his choice now. "I think so. If it was someone I knew was a good man, and he really liked me, and I knew he and I were well matched in all the other ways. Just because I don't think about men as my first choice in bed doesn't mean I wouldn't try if everything else was right. So yeah, I guess I would." Farkas shrugged. "It might not work. But I'd rather know I tried it and it didn't work than spend the rest of my life wondering what if I had. Does that make sense?"

"That... aye. Honestly that makes a lot of sense." This was too much. Vilkas was going to have to go away and think about this. "See? I told you that you weren't stupid, and this proves I was right. A stupid man would never have thought of that." Farkas flushed with pleasure because he knew a real compliment when he heard one, and he didn't often get them from his twin. Vilkas had always known that his brother wasn't stupid, exactly, but he didn't often think very deeply about things. Still, he was always amazed at moments like this how wise Farkas could be when you least expected it. He just couldn't get past the idea of... well, he needed to think about all of this. A lot. "I would hate to say I would and then have to go back and say it didn't work, though, you know? That's ten times worse than not trying at all."

"True," Farkas said grudgingly. "It is. But everything in life is risky, right? I guess you just have to be clear beforehand that you don't know and see if the other person is willing to take a chance. You can only choose for yourself, the other person has to choose for themselves too." Vilkas wasn't sure where this wise Farkas had been hiding, but it was almost scary hearing his brother say things like this.

"Well, no promises but I'll think about it. The funny thing is, I was thinking on the way back from Riverwood today about how much I enjoyed talking to him. I didn't think about anything romantic of course. Just... he's really good company, and we seem to get along. I, uh, I don't know about anything else, though." Vilkas stood up and brushed the water off himself and got out of the rinse tub, grabbing a bath cloth to dry himself. It was kind of weird trying to think of other men in a sexual way. He imagined Misery sitting where Farkas was, watching him bathe, and was surprised to feel a tingle of... what was that? Excitement? Embarrassment? His manhood twitched despite the day's adventures. Interesting, and not something he could ever remember feeling before, despite being naked with probably dozens of other men over the years. Well damn, maybe... He looked up to catch Farkas grinning at him. Can't hide what you're thinking from your twin, he thought tiredly, and grinned back at his brother. "Like I said, I'll think about it. Thanks for telling me." Farkas' clap on his shoulder was answer enough.

=

By the next day, Vilkas was no closer to knowing what he thought was the right thing to do about what he had come to think of as the 'Misery situation'. The elf was nowhere to be found; he hadn't returned the previous night, and hadn't appeared at breakfast. Vilkas distributed the contracts he had sorted, giving Skjor the more complicated or politically charged ones and parceling out the others to the people whose strengths were best suited to get them done. He had a few easy ones set aside for Misery, but the rest of the day came and went without sign of the elf. Aela had gone to the market that afternoon, and came back with the latest gossip. The whole of Whiterun was buzzing with the news that the Dragonborn had bought the old Breezehome manor late the previous night. Apparently he had stormed into Dragon's Reach in the middle of the night, dragged Avenicci out of bed, and demanded that he make the sale immediately. As if that wasn't enough, he had dumped another pile of gold on the man with demands that it be furnished the next day! Lower Whiterun was roiling like a dug up anthill with workmen, movers, furnishers and laborers all swarming around the house. Vilkas found the idea of the Dragonborn in Skyrim bad enough, but living in Whiterun? This was going to end badly, he just knew it.

Another two days passed, and there was no sign of Misery. Vilkas had thought about the Misery situation until he was barely eating or sleeping, thoughts chasing around and around in his head until even Skjor had asked what was wrong with him. Farkas had threatened to tie him to his bed and pour liquor down his throat until his passed out to force him to sleep. The other whelps were refusing to practice with him by the third day, after he almost cut Njada's leg off with a return parry that was far too energetic for a practice bout. As if that weren't bad enough, he then yelled at her for not blocking it while she frantically tried to stanch the bleeding. Athis had to run for Danica. After that, nobody wanted to go near him. Finally he went inside in frustration and announced that he was going on a job and would be back when it was done. As he stormed out of Jorrvaskr, he saw Misery coming up the steps. The elf stiffened at the sight of him and made an offended face, but Vilkas stomped past him without a second glance and headed for the gates. He had no idea what to say to the elf even if both of them were in a good mood, the hell with trying to talk now that he (and apparently Misery as well) were out of sorts.

The job should have been simple. A huge bear was rampaging around the edges of Falkreath proper, and needed to be put down. Easy enough... except that the bear was originally a pet of Thane Dengeir, who swore that any man who harmed it would answer to him. Vilkas couldn't imagine what would lead a man to want a bear as a pet in the first place, let alone a 'pet' that wouldn't obey simple commands, but that wasn't his problem. While he would normally give dangerous animal removal jobs to anyone, the political angle to this one could prove to be a serious pain. Jarl Siddgeir, being a typical politician, had decided to make his own problem someone else's and farm the heavy lifting out to the Companions. Vilkas snorted in disgust. Siddgeir was a snake.

He took the short path, cutting through Brittleshin Pass rather than go by way of Riverwood. Vilkas knew it was unreasonable, but couldn't help but blame Riverwood at some level for the nonstop problems since his last visit. Brittleshin was always a risk; there was a shrine to dark powers inside, and because of that the place was a magnet to a certain type of insane wizard. In the main chamber Vilkas found evidence that some sort of necromantic rituals had been held there, including a frankly disturbing altar covered with human bones and blood stains. Thankfully there was no sign of the necromancer himself. Whoever had been there was either out, moved on or dead.

Once he arrived in Falkreath proper, the bear was easy to track. After talking to a local farmer who had lost three hives to the beast, and another who was down two goats, he picked up its trail. Vilkas took out his bow and arrows, and sat quietly by the main track to the river. A thrall wandered by on her way to get water, but Vilkas quietly sent her back to town with a warning for others to stay off the path until he came back to town. She was happy to do so. Vilkas just hoped that that pompous old fool Dengeir wouldn't show up and make a nuisance of himself before the bear was dead. After a few hours, he heard a snuffling noise as the bear approached. A few arrows and a brief fight later, the bear was dead. That, he thought sourly, was the easy part. Now for the real fun. He skinned the bear (no need to waste a good hide), then went and told the people of the two farms that had lost the honey and goats where the carcass was so they could take the meat and fat. Food for food, as was fair. As he approached the longhouse he saw Dengeir coming out at high speed. The old Thane stopped dead at the sight of Vilkas carrying the rolled pelt on his back.

"Did you hurt my bear?" the old man demanded querulously. His beard was bristling, brows drawn down, and he probably would have been a threatening sight thirty years and ten thousand meads ago. As it was, Vilkas would have little patience for this sort of encounter even if he weren't already tired and irritated.

"Hurt? No. It died quickly and painlessly. What about it?" Despite the political ramifications, he couldn't help but hope that the old man would take a swing at him.

"You... what? You murdered my poor Snorri? This is an outrage!" Dengeir's face turned an alarming shade of beet red. "I told the Jarl that anyone that harmed that bear would answer to me!"

"Well," Vilkas said, making a show of adjusting the hilt of his sword so the threat was clear, "here I am, ready to answer. What do you have to say to the Companions?"

"You... I can't believe that... the Jarl will hear about this!" Dengeir backed away, still furious but not willing to push the matter.

"I think that sounds wise. Let's go talk to him, then." Vilkas grabbed the old man by the elbow and half led, half dragged him into the longhouse. The guards just snickered; they recognized the Companion armor as well as Vilkas himself. He suspected Dengeir didn't have many friends left in the hold, anyway. Siddgeir was sprawled in his seat of office, looking bored, but sat up and attempted to look presentable as the muscular warrior led the spluttering older man to stand in front of the Jarl's throne.

"Companion," Siddgeir's cold, somewhat nasal voice had always gotten on Vilkas' nerves, and his current mood didn't help it any. "To what do we owe the honor?"

"I've come about the contract." He said bluntly. Dengeir's eyes widened and went from Siddgeir to Vilkas and back again. The flush on his face, which had started to fade, was back with a vengeance. "The bear is dead. Your Thane here seemed to think that I had no right to kill it. He wanted to talk to you about it."

"Did he?" came Siddgeir's silky reply. The young Jarl's green eyes focused on the older man with a startling amount of malice, and the elderly Thane blanched. Dengeir began to babble something about pets and comfort and being old, but nobody was listening. Siddgeir spoke over him, "Yes, Thane Dengeir, very good. I'm sure you appreciate the work of the Companions in keeping Falkreath safe, isn't that right?" The old man nodded, and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Siddgeir pressed on, "Well, you'll be happy to know that he took care of the beast that had been damaging our farms. Our citizens are safe, isn't that wonderful? As Thane, I think you owe him some coins in gratitude - a hundred gold should do." Vilkas' mood was improving by the moment; this was even better than he had hoped. 

The old man's mouth gaped open and shut like a fish. Vilkas actually thought the old fool was going to have a fit of apoplexy. Finally, shoulders bowed and glaring at the Jarl, he took out his pouch and counted out the coins and passed them to the warrior with ill grace. Vilkas gave a nod, turned to Siddgeir and said "That fulfills the contract. Glad to be of service." 

"The Companions are always welcome in Falkreath," the Jarl said graciously with an unctuous smile. Vilkas knew Siddgeir was slippery as a greased adder, but this result was a masterpiece even for him. To get the man who caused the problem to pay for the solution was a masterstroke. He wondered if Siddgeir had somehow arranged the meeting with Vilkas at that precise time, but finally decided there was no way to be sure. He bowed and took his leave, giving a sidelong sneer at Dengeir as he went. 

As he made his way back towards Whiterun, Vilkas' mind returned like a lodestone to Misery. He had to admit, after three days of trying to think his way around it, he really did find the elf attractive. He wasn't sure how he felt about having that knowledge, but he couldn't deny it. The goatee just added a degree of exoticism to what could otherwise have been a beautiful if somewhat mannish woman. He was worried about the bits that were under the clothes, though. No way to know about that until the moment arrived, he supposed. He heard Farkas again in his mind, repeating over and over 'If it was someone I knew was a good man, and he really liked me, and I knew he and I were well matched in all the other ways.' He had Farkas' word that Misery was a good man. If his twin brother was wrong, this was the first time ever, so that wasn't an issue. The second point was no issue, either. Vilkas had no doubt the Bosmer liked him. He had not only Farkas' frank statements on the matter but also the elf's own quite forward flirtations. It was the 'matched in all other ways' that he wasn't sure about. 

In the past few days, he had realized that he didn't really know Misery at all. They had had several conversations that were far deeper than the usual friendly banter around Jorrvaskr, but that was a slender reed to hang any type of close relationship on. He knew the elf was a former priest, and he knew about the prophecy that he was following but... what would Misery do if he regained Dibella's favor? Would he return to Valenwood? Maybe he was planning to return anyway, when he was done with his pilgrimage. Vilkas didn't have any interest in leaving Skyrim, and frankly found the idea a bit terrifying. He didn't want to move to some other corner of the world, even with a Dragonborn loose and potentially causing havoc in Skyrim. He would feel like a fish out of water in another land. He knew even less about Valenwood than he did about Misery himself. Vilkas acknowledged that he didn't know much about the elf's life at all beyond the religious aspects. What was his family like? How was he raised? Why did he join the temple? Who was he, really? For that matter, what had he done that irritated his goddess so much that one of her apparently highly placed and quite blessed priests was suddenly cut off from her grace and turned out? What could you possibly do to offend a goddess of beauty and hedonism? Refuse to have fun? 

Thinking of Dibella and her worshippers brought up another sticky issue that caused Vilkas some serious concern. After their conversations about Dibella and regional differences in her devotions, he was trying to keep an open mind, but to a Nord the idea of taking up with a Dibellan was shocking in and of itself. He was no crowd follower for sure, but the scandal would be tremendous, at least until people realized that Misery wasn't a whore and taking bed partners left and right as the goddess instructed. He knew that would be an issue, and it was foolish to pretend otherwise. Vilkas himself wasn't a jealous man by nature, but the wolf... the wolf didn't share. He had enough problems without constantly having his territorial animal nature causing problems. More problems than it already did, anyway. If his partner was entertaining other people, or even constantly being approached by others thinking they had a chance, there was no way to avoid a difficult and possibly dangerous confrontation.

The wolf was another problem that would have to be addressed. Presumably Misery already knew about it, since Farkas had been addlepated enough to change in front of him. Even a stupid person would suspect that if Farkas was a werewolf, that his twin brother must be one as well, and the elf was far from stupid. Vilkas assumed that Kodlak had gotten things straightened out on that front after the initiation ceremony, but Ysmir's balls, what a thing to have to deal with in a partner! Vilkas knew he was not the easiest person to deal with, even without the wolf; he was surly, and moody, and prone to fits of depression despite being a fierce warrior and a good Companion. He knew his faults all too well. One of the things that made Misery so attractive was that he seemed to raise Vilkas out of his moods. When they were talking, even when the warrior had started the conversation in a bad mood, the elf seemed to bring a light with him that made everything better, clearer, fresher than it was. That was a great gift, but there was no guarantee it would continue once they were accustomed to being around each other. After the initial rush, Misery might decide that Vilkas wasn't what he wanted after all. And wouldn't that just be a grand jest, he thought with a laugh. I go through all this to work up my nerve to try dating a man, only to have the man decide he didn't want me after all!

By this point he was at the gates of Whiterun. It was late, well past sundown, and the gates were closed but the guards opened quickly enough to a Companion. He finally resigned himself to the idea that he would never get the answers to those questions by himself; he wasn't ever going to be able to work out the solutions to them by himself, the only way was to talk to the elf. If only he didn't feel so awkward when they talked! Maybe he should speak to Kodlak or Skjor and get them to assign the elf to work with him on a job or two; that way they could get to know each other a little better without Vilkas having to jump into a conversation about relationships and attraction right away. Just thinking about such a talk made him feel nervous and ill at ease. As he went into Jorrvaskr, he looked around but it looked like most of the Companions had turned in already. There was no sign of Misery. Skjor was sitting with Vignarr in front of the fire, and just grunted his usual response when Vilkas brought him the coins. He would have told the older Companions the story of Siddgeir's conniving, but they seemed to be in the middle of a discussion. Bidding them goodnight, he went downstairs to seek his own bed. Now that he had come to a conclusion about a path forward, maybe he could even get some sleep for once.

=

As Vilkas came up the stairs from the residential areas into the dining hall, Skjor was waiting for him. "Urgent contract," he said. "Messenger from Idgrod just left. Apparently a particularly tough group of bandits set up in Mistwatch over a month ago and are making pains in the ass of themselves." The old warrior's one eye was angry. "I would do it myself, but Balgruuf is demanding that Kodlak and I be at some meeting he's having with people from Windhelm." Skjor snorted in disgust. "As if Ulfric is going to give two shits about the Companions. We're good, but we're not an army."

"Aye," Vilkas said, gathering a plate of food. "A few bandits are one thing to fight, a few hundred Stormcloaks are a little different." He stood next to Skjor but shoveled food into his mouth, wanting to be ready to leave if that's where this discussion was going.

"Exactly. But the Jarl wants these bandits out of Mistwatch yesterday; got a real bee in her bonnet about it. Good money, though. Take one of the other Companions with you and go deal with it. If you trust one of the whelps, they can tag along, but this needs two good fighters at least." Skjor grumbled a bit and stomped around, pacing in irritation. "I'd much rather go do that than stay for this garbage. Stupid politicians." Vilkas realized this would be a perfect excuse to take Misery on the road and talk, but he didn't know if the elf was up to the fighting side. For all that Misery was a full-fledged Companion now, he'd never seen the Bosmer even pick up a sword. He took the contract from Skjor and whistled when he read it.

"Five hundred fifty gold? She really does want those bandits gone." Skjor nodded, flashing a quick grin even in his foul mood. It was an unheard of sum to pay for a few bandits. Vilkas had a moment of concern about how many bandits there were for that amount, but Mistwatch was a decent size fort, left over from when the Imperial presence was a lot heavier. It would be a pain to clear even a small crew out of such an eminently defensible location, so the money made sense. A granny with a broom could hold some of those higher walkways for days; the need for more than one skilled fighter was becoming more clear the more he thought about it. "Maybe I'll take the elf, Misery. See how he fights, now that he's a Companion. Might be working together for a while, need to see what his skills are and what contracts he can work."

Skjor snorted. "That one? Suit yourself. I'd find Aela, though, or take your brother if I were you. Elf might get his hair mussed up and have to leave mid-fight to find a mirror." Vilkas laughed awkwardly, realizing that only a few weeks ago he would have held the same opinion. That seemed to have changed without him noticing it. He was a bit concerned at how many things seemed to be changing without his noticing lately.

"If he does, I'll leave him there. I'm sure it will be fine. Seen him today?" Skjor shook his head irritably. Vilkas looked around the room, but as usual the whelps were gone to the yard and the only person still around was Tilma hauling away the wreckage of the morning meal.

"He comes and goes; doesn't sleep downstairs like everyone else. No idea where he spends his time at night... or with whom." Skjor glowered. "Faugh! A priest of Dibella in the Companions! I can only imagine old Alvar's reaction. Old man is probably raving in his barrow. Surprised he hasn't crawled out of the ground and come back to yell at Kodlak about it." Vilkas was startled. He had thought that Misery was sleeping downstairs, but now that he gave it some thought, he realized that he hadn't seen the elf in the living quarters since the day Vilkas went to Riverwood. The idea of him having someone else in town that he was sleeping with was unpleasant. Vilkas felt like a fool for thinking so... it wasn't like he had any claim to the elf's time, or had even decided he wanted to have such a claim. Nevertheless, the thought tasted oddly bitter. 

The door opened at that moment and Misery appeared, radiant in an elegant outfit of lapis blue that set off his hair perfectly. "To those that speak his name," Skjor snickered, referring to the old Nord proverb about Death appearing. Misery looked up, surprised, and then his eyes narrowed a bit when he saw Vilkas. "Good news, Companion," Skjor said to him, voice dripping with sarcasm, "glorious battle awaits! You and Vilkas are going to go bandit hunting near Morthal! Get your gear, if you need to take anything." Vilkas' stomach sank. Surely there was a worse way to go about asking Misery to come along on this trip, but he was hard pressed to think of what it might be.

Misery's face briefly flashed equal parts dismay and irritation before all emotion was suddenly erased. Countenance now smooth and emotionless, the elf made a graceful, totally inappropriate courtly bow and said "I am truly honored! I am crushed with regret to say that I have prior plans that must take precedence. I am devastated, but my obligations are quite unavoidable. Surely another of the Companions could..." Skjor snorted in disgust.

"Save your court manners, boy. I told Vilkas to take someone, he picked you. You want to be in the Companions, you go where we tell you to go and do what we tell you to do. You want out, tell me now and I'll pass word to Kodlak. He can strike you from the list." Misery was fighting to maintain his emotionless appearance, but Vilkas could tell that irritation was winning. The elf's face was calm but his hands were tense. Skjor wasn't done. "Otherwise, get your shit together and you two head out now. Jarl Idgrod's in a hurry and there's a lot of money in play." Vilkas had been about to speak up and tell Misery that he could take someone else if the elf didn't want to go, but Skjor put paid to that. Dominance fights were part of life with the Companions, he supposed; just one of the dangers of dealing with people who were part wolf. Misery should get used to it if he wanted to stay. Well, he thought stoically, it's not the way I thought the trip would start, but I guess I got my wish. Lucky me.

"What do you need?" he asked the Bosmer, trying to act as normal as possible, like the confrontation with Skjor hadn't happened. "Shall we meet at the gates in an hour, or do you need more time?" Misery turned, jaw taut and eyes flashing.

"I need..." he started and caught himself. The elf cleared his throat; whatever he had been about to say was clearly being swallowed. All emotion vanished again as though it had never been present at all. "An hour will be fine. See you at the gates." Despite the rage clearly visible in the tension of his movements, Misery's face was smooth and utterly expressionless, only the goatee breaking the effect of it being a porcelain mask. He turned around gracefully and was going out the door as Skjor's voice rang out in a final taunt.

"Might want to wear traveling clothes. Be a shame to ruin that nice outfit." The elf's shoulders tensed, but he closed the door firmly without quite slamming it. Vilkas, far from feeling amused, was irritated.

"Thanks for getting him good and pissed off, Skjor. He'll be a joy to travel with now." Rather than looking at Vilkas, Skjor aimed a sour look at the door.

"Needs to toughen up, that one. Prancing around here in all those ridiculous clothes. Makes the Companions look like a joke. I told Kodlak letting him in was a bad idea, but he'd had one of his visions about it or something, no arguing with him on it." Skjor took a drink of mead and wiped his lips, grimacing at the bottle. "I don't see it, I know that. Besides, whelp," he looked over at Vilkas, "you were the one that picked him for this little cakewalk. Just get it done." Skjor stomped off into the practice yard. Vilkas would have killed anyone else who called him whelp, but... well, Skjor was his sire in the wolf blood, after all. He wished he had known Kodlak had a vision of the elf. He would never have opposed his entry knowing that, because as the older man had just said, there was no point. Kodlak's sixth sense was a watchword among the Companions.

An hour later, Vilkas approached the gate. He was shocked when a pilgrim in a hooded cloak turned to meet him and he recognized Misery in the plain road garb of a normal traveler. The silver rose was still at his throat, but his clothes were those of a wandering merchant, not the elaborate and elegant courtly garb that was his usual fare. He was a little surprised to see no weapons, though the elf was carrying a pack with a bedroll. At his wave, Misery didn't react, just fell into step beside him. A sidelong glance showed Vilkas a face full of the irritation that wasn't allowed before, mouth a straight almost lipless line, eyes lidded and surly. They passed through the gates, Vilkas acknowledging the guards' respectful greeting with a wave. The Bosmer kept walking, ignoring everyone. Wonderful, Vilkas thought. This is shaping up to be a great trip already. By the time they headed west from the gates across the plain, Vilkas decided anything was better than the tense silence.

He cleared his throat, but to no reaction from the elf. "Sorry about Skjor," he said. "I told him I thought you would be a good one for this, but I didn't expect him to force you into it."

"It's fine." came the curt reply. The elf didn't even look at him.

"As you say." Vilkas didn't know whether to continue or not. "I just wanted to let you know it wasn't my idea to make you come on this if you didn't want to." The only response was a soft grunt.

The afternoon wore on, and the silence did as well. Vilkas pointed out a bear den and a sabertooth in the distance, trying to get some reaction, but the elf could have been back in Whiterun for all the attention he paid to the dark haired warrior. Vilkas was confounded, and as usual when confounded, irritation wasn't far behind. It would never have occurred to him that Farkas was making up the story of his conversation with the elf and Misery's interest in him, but he was beginning to wonder. The mer was certainly not acting like someone who was interested in him, even as a friend. This was a new thing; maybe he had found someone in Whiterun to keep him company. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. It wasn't as though the elf wasn't good looking, and Vilkas hadn't given any indication of whether or not he was interested. That was probably it, he thought sourly. I waited too long to make up my mind. A completely inappropriate jealousy added more irritation, both with the mer and with himself. Finally, Vilkas had had enough. This was a safe enough spot, nothing dangerous around. Time to clear the air.

"Misery." he said, stopping dead in his tracks. The elf looked up, surprised, but his face immediately resumed the same irritated expression it had borne all afternoon. Fine, Vilkas thought, be as irritated as you like. We're going to have this out. "What's the problem?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," came the quick reply, missing the usual theatrical intonation. The elf's face was determinedly turned away, jaw set.

"Don't you?" Vilkas said with exasperation. "You're acting like I've done something bad to you. I'd most likely apologize if I knew what it was, but instead you just sit and sulk at me. I already said I didn't mean to drag you along on this if you didn't want to go, so I hope that's not it. Skjor was the one who nailed you to this, not me. So what's the problem?" he dropped his pack and had a seat on it. Might as well get this resolved now. 

The elf looked at him and his face was conflicted, but he said "I'd... I don't want to talk about it." Well, Vilkas thought, that's something at least.

"Look, Misery... We're going to be together on the road for a few days, and it's going to be long and awful if you're in this foul mood the whole time. I know we had some issues at first, but I've enjoyed our conversations. I was starting to think of you as a friend. You're not the first person I've pissed off, gods alone know," he said with a chuckle, trying to inject some humor, "but at least I usually know what I did to put my foot in it. So I ask you again... what's the problem?" At the word 'friend', the elf's face had changed, but Vilkas wasn't sure how to read the changes.

"It's... shameful." The elf said with his eyes lowered, face averted. "I don't want to... it's just that..." He stopped and sighed. "Gods, normally I can't shut up and now that I need words they desert me. Fickle friends indeed." Vilkas laughed at that. He was also secretly delighted that he wasn't the only one to end up wrong footed in a conversation between the two of them. He was still mystified at the elf's behavior, especially if it was 'shameful'. What on earth could have he have done? "If I tell you, I need you to promise me two things. First, that you will keep what you hear completely secret. I mean it... nobody can know. But unless I tell you something you aren't supposed to know, the rest of it won't make sense." Misery was looking at Vilkas from under his brows, and the elf looked serious, but still upset.

"I can promise that. What I learn from you stays here between us. What's the other thing?" Vilkas asked. Now his curiosity had him firmly by the nose.

"That... you won't make fun of me." The elf's face was miserable. This was the most vulnerability Vilkas had ever seen on him. Why would he worry about... oh. Oh! The elf was probably going to tell him who he was sleeping with in Whiterun. Maybe someone with a grudge against Vilkas? Things just took a dark turn, he thought, but fine.

"Aye, I can promise that too. I know I can be an ass sometimes but I won't throw whatever it is in your face." Misery nodded and sat down on a tuft of grass facing slightly away from Vilkas, crossing his legs under himself.

Misery visibly braced himself and took a deep breath. "Good. I shouldn't be telling you this, and gods know why I am, but here we go. You remember when we were talking about the prophecy that sent me here? And I said that Dibella's Eye was gone from me, and that I didn't have its benefits any more?" Vilkas nodded; he had wondered about that, but it was a mystery of the priests, and none of his concern. Was the mer really going to tell him about a sacred mystery? "Well..." the elf twisted his fingers together, knotting them around each other. "Dibella's Eye is a gift that the goddess gives. It just... manifests. It shows you the beauty in everyone, no matter who they are or what they look like. It's how her priests and priestesses who, uh, are intimate with their worshippers are able to treat everyone the same. When seen through the Eye, it doesn't matter if the person would be seen by others as ugly, you see them as beautiful. So the old, the infirm, the misshapen are welcome, just as beautiful in your eyes as anyone else." Misery ran his hand across his face. "I don't have that any more. I can't help but see people as attractive and unattractive now, and I'm not used to it." Vilkas could see where that would be unnerving, especially if it had been gone for a long time and came back suddenly. Weird thought, really. The elf went on, "And the other part is that you don't get feelings of jealousy with the Eye. All pleasure is equally beautiful, so no matter how many partners you have, or what, uh, someone else does," a flush crept across the elf's high cheekbones, "it's all part of our Lady's realm and equally beautiful as well. I don't have that either. Any more. And I wasn't prepared for how strong it was. The jealousy."

"Very well," Vilkas said, not sure that he understood. "At least, I won't tell anyone about the Eye. I see why that should be kept secret." He did, too. That part made sense; if he spread word of it, it might be him that Dibella was angry with and divine displeasure was not something to be taken lightly. 

"Thanks," Misery said with a flash of gratitude. "The rest is where I wanted you to promise not to make fun of me." He swallowed. "The first time I saw you, I thought you were the most attractive man I'd ever seen. And I still do." Vilkas saw the elf's hands trembling with nerves and embarrassment at this revelation, and suddenly he wanted to comfort him, though he had no idea how. "And... even though I know that you probably don't... think of me that way," the mer's eyes raised to Vilkas', rich black orbs gazing into ice grey, "when you came in the other day smelling like perfume and I knew you had been with someone else, I was jealous. Very jealous. I felt like I was about to lose control, so I left. I didn't know how strong jealousy could be, I'm not used to it, and it's stupid, I know, I'm stupid, I shouldn't feel that way, I don't have any right, and Farkas said that you didn't like men, and..." This was the most unstrung Vilkas had ever heard Misery sound. The elf looked ready to cry, face twisted and upset. Vilkas raised a hand to stop him, and Misery's flow of words cut off, leaving him panting and shamefaced.

"I would never make fun of someone for finding me attractive. It's a compliment." Misery was staring at him now, eyes uncertain. "But it's true, I haven't thought of men as... romantic partners before." When he said that, Misery let out a huff of breath and dropped his eyes. Vilkas felt bad but was trying to choose his words carefully. He wanted to avoid committing to something he couldn't do, but this sort of conversation was hard with anyone, let alone someone you might be interested in. "But I would be lying if I said I hadn't noticed that you were very attractive. I don't know much about you beyond the few conversations we've had, but I'd like to. I'd like to be a friend to you for a while, and if something else happens, well, it happens. I can't promise that I can be anything more than a friend. I don't want to lead you on. And I'm very unsure about the, uh, the physical part of things. But I'll keep an open mind if you want to see where it goes." Misery was staring at him again, this time with excitement. Vilkas hoped he hadn't heard what he wanted to hear instead of what he had been saying. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he had been saying himself, he felt like he was just babbling.

"Really?" the elf was openly staring now. "You... mean that? You're not, uh, with someone? Already? After the other day..."

It was Vilkas' turn to flush. "No, I'm not. That was a one-time thing." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "And as I said, I don't know what I think about any of it. I've never even found a man attractive before. It's complicated." That's the understatement of the year, he thought sourly. This conversation was every bit as painful as he had feared it might be. "But, speaking of being with someone, aren't you seeing someone in Whiterun already?"

"I... no," the elf looked confused, which in turn made Vilkas confused. "Why would you think I was seeing someone?"

"Well, you stopped sleeping downstairs in Jorrvaskr all of a sudden, and you left every night. I assumed..." Vilkas suddenly realized two things. First, that his foot was in his mouth up to his hip, and secondly, that he had basically told the elf that he had been watching him.

"Oh!" Misery laughed in relief, his whole face lighting up. "No, there's no mystery man! I bought a house, I've been staying... there... uh..." Suddenly his face was suffused with embarrassment. Vilkas was totally confounded now, because that didn't make any sense. The only home that had been for sale was... No, surely not.

"You bought a house? In Whiterun?" Vilkas looked closely at the elf, who was now staring at his feet. "So you bought Breezehome?"

"... yes." came the mumbled reply.

"But I heard that Breezehome was bought by the... wait. Wait." If Vilkas wasn't sitting already, he would have fallen down. "So you mean to tell me that you are the... "

"_FUS_" Misery whisper-shouted, and the lavender and other flowers in front of him lay flat at the blast of force. His face was a mixture of embarrassment and pride, but mostly embarrassment. Vilkas felt like laying flat himself. All the worrying about a Dragonborn running loose in Skyrim and it was someone who had been beside him for weeks without him knowing. Ysmir's balls, someone that he was thinking of as... that found him attractive... that... oh good gods. Complicated wasn't enough of a word to describe this situation.

"And you were planning on telling me this... when, exactly?" Vilkas' mouth was running on its own now, mind still clouded by shock. Misery's face lived up to his name.

"I wanted to, but it never seemed like the right time to bring it up. I wasn't keeping it a secret exactly, I... I knew you were concerned about there being a Dragonborn again, and honestly I share those concerns. It's all terribly new to me as well, I didn't know anything about it until that dragon was killed at the watchtower and I... did whatever I did." The mer looked anguished. "I don't know what I'm doing, honestly. I don't want to be a danger to anyone. I don't even know how this happened to me. I just came here to find Dibella's grace again, not to be... some... dragon." Tears were running down his cheeks. Misery looked achingly vulnerable. Vilkas reached out and laid his hand on the other man's shoulder. Misery clutched at his arm like a drowning man clinging to a spar.

"Do you feel it in you? The dragon?" Vilkas asked softly. What was done was done, might as well move on, despite a lingering sense of betrayal from having to find out something so important in such a backhanded way. "I know my brother showed you the wolf in the Cairn and I know you talked to Kodlak, so I'm not telling secrets you don't already know. Is it the same for you? Is it a... presence, in your mind?" The elf nodded miserably.

"Yes. Since the moment at the watchtower I absorbed the soul of that dragon, I feel it. Always. It's one of the reasons that my jealousy was so strong. I'm not used to these feelings, and the dragon doesn't share what it has with anyone, anything. I want to take things, have them, hold them, make them mine... this isn't me." His dark eyes were wild, begging Vilkas to believe him. "I never had these feelings before. It's as if something else is in my mind with me, feeling things through me." Vilkas sighed. It was the same for him and the wolf. The feelings were different, but he understood. He understood all too well.

"The wolf is much the same. He doesn't share, except with family, with pack. What's his is his, and rivals are met with force." Vilkas' eyes looked over at the elf and Misery shivered. Within the black war paint, the eyes were icy pale wolf eyes, the same eyes to be seen prowling around a campsite at night in the frozen wastes. The warrior knew the exact moment that the dragon saw the wolf clearly for the first time, because the wolf saw the dragon as well. The shock echoed clearly through both him and the elf. Vilkas felt the hackles he didn't have in this shape rise and bristle. The mer drew back, eyes wide and staring, drew himself up and gave an almost-smile that was more a baring of sharp teeth. Misery seemed to be uncomfortable in his own skin, neck wanting to arch, wanting to roar, trumpet, drive off this threat, or take it, subjugate it, own it. His shoulders drew back of their own accord, and he looked like he was trying to make his nonexistent wings mantle in challenge. There was a sense of two objects being forced together, sliding around each other, resistance... Vilkas' breathy chuckle broke the spell.

"Careful there," he said, low voice hoarser than usual, wolf desperate to snarl at the threat from the elf in front of him. "I could see the dragon in you, clear as day. But don't get too threatening. I'd like to stay friends." A wolfish grin, white teeth shining in the sun. Misery's eyes were burning hot, looking like he wanted to eat him up one bit at a time. The elf's red tongue appeared briefly, slipped along his bottom lip. Vilkas suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable. His discomfort increased when he realized that a certain part of him was very excited indeed by the dragon's presence. He was glad he wasn't still walking. The smell of the elf was all around, the same musky woodsy smell he had noted before, in context quite sensual. It wasn't helping at all, instead intensifying an arousal that was unexpected and almost painful. Misery was shining again with that same attractiveness that he had noticed before, almost glowing, and the elf leaned towards Vilkas' face slowly, moving in to kiss him. It was too much. The warrior pulled back abruptly, and the spell was broken. Misery jerked back suddenly as well, looking discomfited and embarrassed again.

Vilkas coughed. "We should get moving," he said finally, refusing to make eye contact. Misery's nod was brief.

=

By the time they made camp that night in a sheltered gorge in the mountains, the awkwardness of the afternoon encounter had mostly passed. Vilkas had decided to ignore it for now; there was no point in talking the elf out of brooding only to take up the habit himself. He would think about it later. When they had set up their bedrolls, built a small fire and eaten some food, things seemed calm enough between them.

"So..." Misery's resonant voice seemed eerily out of place in the wilds at a campfire, Vilkas thought. "What do you usually do in the evenings when traveling? The Companions, I mean. Tell stories? Sharpen weapons? Design siege engines?" The elf's teasing was accompanied by a smile and quite possibly the most mischievous expression Vilkas had seen on someone over the age of ten summers. He laughed in spite of himself.

"Depends on who is traveling with whom. Talk, sit, spar, cook, hunt depending on who's along. Not many of us know many stories except Vignarr. Old man can talk your ear off, though, be warned." Vilkas looked across the fire to where Misery was lounging against his pack, looking for all the world like he was on a padded bench in a noble's hall instead of sitting in the dirt under the stars.

"My ears are precious to me, so I will make a note of it." Misery responded gravely, eyes dancing. "Well, if you want, we could play novice games, that's one way to pass the time and get to know each other a little better."

"What are novice games?" Despite being determined not to be prejudiced against Misery's religion, the prospect of what might be considered fun and games among the novices of Dibella sent a thrill of concern up Vilkas' back.

"Oh, games we used to play in the dormitories back in the temple. They weren't really games, we just called them that. There were no winners or losers. They were just... ways to hurry the process of getting to know each other. When you were a novice, you needed to know your fellows pretty well. These were people you would be serving with for literally decades or longer, in some cases. It was a way to start quickly learning each other's likes and dislikes, get a sense for the personality of each of you, that sort of thing. They could be a little dry, but sometimes one of the novices would come out with a statement that was quite lovely or profound." The elf's eyes gazed off into the distance, clearly remembering his time at the temple.

"That might be interesting. It would be different at least." Vilkas figured anything was worth a try if it would give him a better feel for the elf. "What kind of games are they?"

"Well, there was one called Love or Hate, where someone else chooses for you to tell something you love or hate on a particular topic, and why; there were other rules made up on the spot about what the parameters of the game were. There was another called My Favorite Memory Of where someone else got to pick a subject and you had to tell your favorite memory dealing with that thing, then they had to tell theirs." Misery smiled fondly. "People would occasionally try to lie, but their eyes always gave them away."

"How do you tell if... is this some priest thing?" Vilkas didn't believe a word of it, but the elf was oddly certain-seeming.

Dark eyes dancing now, Misery kept a solemn face on and said "Of course not, haven't you noticed that when people lie they get shifty around the eyes? They look away, they look to the left, they look..." He couldn't keep it together any more and started laughing at the baffled expression on Vilkas' face, which quickly turned to a surly sneer as he realized that the elf was leading him on. "Oh, don't make that face at me. Yes, it was a 'priest thing', as you call it, but people do get shifty looking when they lie also, so there." Vilkas couldn't remember ever seeing this playful side of Misery; in spite of himself he felt a bit special that he was seeing it now. He had a sense not many got to do so.

"Well, we can try Love and Hate, I suppose. What sort of other rules get made up?" Vilkas hoped he wouldn't regret this.

"That sounds fun! Hmm... let's say that if you are given the same one three times in a row, you have to do the other on the fourth round. So three Loves in a row and you have to do a Hate, and vice versa. Also, no concepts, only concrete things - so no fair saying you love Justice, for example. Sound fair?" Misery was clearly enjoying this already, but Vilkas was a bit nervous; this could easily get a lot more personal than he wanted.

"Aye." Vilkas moved to a more comfortable position, stretching out one leg. "I would suggest that we have the option to refuse to answer."

"Oh! Yes, sorry, I forgot that one." Misery said, not sounding sorry at all. "Usually there's a group and the group keeps people in line with what they ask but since it's just the two of us..." the elf gave a look from underneath his eyelashes that Vilkas was sure he would never have gotten from one of the other Companions. "We can refuse to answer. If we want."

"Good," Vilkas grunted, feeling increasingly self-conscious at the idea of this 'game'. "So I pick a topic and Love or Hate, and that's it?" When the elf nodded and gave him an expectant look, he said "Uh... Love and Nature."

"Well done, an easy one. I love the flowers in Skyrim. I always thought everything here was ice and snow, I didn't expect there to be fields of fresh flowers everywhere. Even the poison ones like deathbell are beautiful, and keep the swamps from being ugly. And the flowering Gildergreen is magnificent. Your turn." Misery looked expectantly at Vilkas and said, "Hate and yourself."

The warrior ran his hand along his jaw, feeling the stubble that told him it was past time to shave again. Smiling, he said "Fine... self and hate, huh? I hate having to shave often if I want to keep from having a full beard. I wish I had a smoother face." The elf scoffed at him.

"Oh that's a weak answer," the elf teased. Misery looked over at him, eyes a bit warmer than a friend's would be. "And besides, I think your face is very handsome, stubble and all." Vilkas felt a moment's awkwardness, but Misery quickly went on, "So, me again. Don't be shy."

Vilkas was beginning to get a feel for this. The real game seemed to be not being forced to share things, but a constant struggle of how comfortable you felt with the other person, how willing you were to say different things about yourself. He could see how this would be useful for getting to know someone. "Uh... back at you. Hate and yourself."

Misery sighed and looked away, then back. "I suppose that's fair. We didn't allow people to flip the same question directly in the temple, but I'll go for it because it was early in the game to get that close." Vilkas felt a brief moment of pleasure that he'd figured out the game's real intent so well, but Misery shocked him with his response. "I hate being Dragonborn. The idea that Akatosh could interrupt my relationship with my own goddess, impose something on me, without me having any say in it... I hate it. I didn't want it, I don't want it, and yet now I seem to be a player on a very big stage indeed when all I want is to be happy and help people find joy and beauty."

"You... hate it?" Vilkas was astonished. "I thought it was supposed to be something glorious and special, something..."

Misery interrupted. "Yes, something special. I thought so too until it happened to me. I don't feel special, I just feel... confused. Like that line from my prophecy, Divided heart, divided mind, divided thought. Everything that I am, or was, is at war with everything that I am told I should become. I lost the peace I had found through Dibella's Eye and now I have all these thoughts and judgments and emotions... it's hard. I don't like it." He finished, and gave a frustrated huff of breath. "But enough about that, there's my answer. Hm... Love and Skyrim."

Vilkas thought for a moment. How to choose? Finally, picking something at random he said "I love a certain angle of light in snowy mornings in the mountains. There's a particular angle of the sun, early in the morning, and if you catch it just right, all the snow sparkles in rainbows everywhere around you. And even though you are sitting in a place with nothing to see but dark rocks and white snow, every color in the world is all around you like flames. It's beautiful." Misery was sitting and looking at him with his mouth hanging open, and Vilkas felt suddenly self-conscious. "What?"

"That..." the elf finally said, "that was amazing. I could see what you were talking about in my mind. You have the soul of a poet, my friend." Vilkas felt complimented but also exposed, somehow.

"Um... Love and the Companions." Vilkas could have bitten his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth. What the hell was wrong with him? Misery looked up in surprise, but saw the look on his face and grinned widely when he realized what had happened.

"If you're going to give me that sort of opening..." the elf said teasingly, "don't be shocked at what I say." Vilkas could feel himself flushing in embarrassment and wanted to hide, but he figured that he had made this mess so he couldn't object too loudly. "But I suppose I will be kind and not get too scandalous. The Companions. I love... well, I like the idea of the wolf armor being the wolf from the prophecy, but that's not a love exactly. I love... the closeness of the group. The sense of family, of togetherness, that no matter how badly we may get on each other's nerves, the Companions protect each other and are there for each other no matter what. I think that's beautiful." Vilkas had to admit that was a good answer. He thought that summed up the Companions nicely. It sounded better in that rich, theatrical voice than it would have coming from Skjor or Kodlak, but it was a masterful summary. Unfortunately, Misery wasn't done. "There is this one Companion, though... I don't know if he's a love exactly, but maybe one day..." He was looking at Vilkas teasingly, but there was an undercurrent of desire plain on his face. Vilkas knew the elf was teasing, but it didn't lessen his tension; he wished the earth could open and swallow him whole. In spite of himself, he was a bit aroused. Suddenly the elf looked self-conscious as well for a moment. "I would like to... ask you for something. No is fine."

Vilkas felt a bit nervous, more so with that caveat rather than less. "Aye?"

"This afternoon..." the elf began and his dark eyes fixed on the warrior's ice grey ones, briefly taking Vilkas' breath. "Why did you... pull back?" He grimaced and said "I just want to know. You said that you didn't think of men like that, but you also said you found me attractive. But that's not what I'm asking for, I just... Gods, I'm so tongue tied about this with you!" Misery threw his head to one side in frustration, which Vilkas found oddly charming. It was also nice to know that his problems speaking to the mer weren't just one-sided.

"It's a fair question. I suppose I was unclear. I wish I had a clear answer; I still don't know what I think about this. I'm not really attracted to men, but I do seem to be attracted to you. And I don't know what that means." He was proud of himself for actually getting a clear sentence or two out. "And this afternoon was almost too much, too intense for me."

"Ah." Misery stood up and came around the campfire and eased himself gracefully down next to Vilkas, who immediately felt self-conscious. "Thank you for saying that I am attractive, and I am very glad to hear that you find me attractive, which are two different things." The elf's eyes were shining, his bronze-gold hair reflecting the firelight. Vilkas was almost hypnotized by how beautiful he looked. His lips were perfectly shaped, and so red. "So since just doing it is too much, I will ask... may I kiss you?" Looking at that mouth, Vilkas wanted to say yes; thinking of what that would mean, he wanted to say no. At his hesitation, the elf drew back a bit. "Saying no is fine, remember. No pressure."

"I... don't... I mean... uh..." Vilkas didn't know what to say, what to think. Noticing how tight his breeches were, part of him clearly thought it was a good idea, he thought sourly. He started to lean forward even as his mind said this is probably not a good idea, not now, not a good time, let's just... their lips touched. Misery's lips were just as soft and delicious as they looked. The elf's shocked huff of breath against the side of his face was quite erotic, somehow, and then the pressure of the kiss was returned. The scent of the Bosmer was all around him, making him feel almost drunk on it. He felt needle-sharp teeth lightly brush his bottom lip, a tongue sliding across his own. His eyes flew wide and met Misery's eyes staring into his, and the rush from the afternoon manifested all over again. There was the same flash of recognition at a visceral level; this time, though, instead of challenge, there was just want, need, desire. Dragon met wolf in a rush of sexual challenge and lust, hands grabbing shoulders, lips forced together, sharp teeth pressed to lips too hard, tongues fighting, forcing back and forth, taste of blood like a coppery shimmer... Vilkas had to fight a deep primal need to change, like the Moon was shining on him dragging him out of shape against his will. He could hear his breath growling in his throat. Misery seemed to be fighting the same way, eyes wide, hands clawing at Vilkas' back, lips puffy and wet, sharklike teeth barely visible... teeth. Those teeth were dangerous. There was a sense that the dragon and the wolf were pushing against each other, twisting, adjusting, reaching for some sort of way in which they fit together, but it was far too much for Vilkas. He used the last of his willpower to thrust his arms out and pushed them apart, sent Misery reeling away, and leaped to his feet.

He realized he was so hard that his cock was a solid rod of pain. Just the pressure against his breeches was almost too much; at least he wasn't wearing armor. He licked his lips, tasting blood and Misery and it was almost enough to send him back in to another kiss in spite of himself. "That," he said, breathing heavily, "that was maybe not a good idea." Looking down at the elf splayed at his feet, he could feel the wolf like an almost physical presence, wanting to leap on him and... what? This was an aspect of the wolf he had never met before, in the years he had borne the blood. Anger, frustration, rage, bloodlust, those were familiar as old clothes, but this rush of primal lust was as alien as if he had woken up one morning walking on his hands.

"Uh..." Misery was clearly at a loss for words as well, panting, with a trickle of blood seeping from his lip where it had been pressed too hard against his teeth. "It's not usually like that." He shifted around uncomfortably and Vilkas was suddenly aware that he wasn't the only one with a major arousal problem. Even through the heavy cloth of the traveling clothes, the mer's erection was clearly visible. "Not ever before, anyway. That was quite... unexpected."

"I think the wolf and the dragon don't get along." Vilkas said, thinking back to the energies shifting and coiling around them. He had liked kissing the elf well enough for the first few moments, but then the rush of the wolf overpowered everything else, and the wolf... the wolf had more than liked it. If he had shifted, Misery would have likely been... better not to think about that too much. But this was a bad idea, he knew that in his bones.

"It didn't feel incompatible to me, exactly." Misery said, breathing more steadily. The elf sat up, adjusted his clothes and smoothed his hair. "It was more like there was an... imbalance, somehow. Like they needed to find some sort of arrangement to work together. Did you feel the energies shifting around each other, that sensation like snakes coiling around each other? That's how a spell feels when you're learning it and you've almost got it, but it is still slightly out of alignment. Once you get it, it clicks into place and then you just know it, from then on. But that's the feeling, of being almost there." Vilkas knew nothing of magic, and didn't care to know any more than he did already.

"Well, I don't know anything about magic, but I do know that I don't intend to do that again." Vilkas said bluntly, ignoring the elf's hurt expression. "Not unless we have a real confidence that we can control our respective beasts. That could have ended... very badly." He sighed deeply and shook his head, scowling. Misery's face was closed off now, retreating behind the cold mask of impassivity that Vilkas had seen used when the mer had been hurt or uncomfortable. That uncaring pose irritated Vilkas each time he saw it. "Listen to me. You have seen Farkas shift from a safe place, but you don't know what it's like to be out in the open with the wolf like that. You're not safe with the wolf. Not even close. Even if you were able to defend yourself somehow, you'd have to attack me or... or I would attack you. And I wouldn't be able to deal with that when I changed back." The mer's masklike face was utterly still, gazing at Vilkas like an impassive statue of the elf had been set up in place of the living, breathing being that had been there moments ago. Vilkas felt his already precarious hold on his temper slip even more. "Gods damn it, listen to me! Don't just sit there making that blank face at me, like I'm being rude to you! I'm trying to keep you from being killed or... or raped, not taking your fucking sweet roll away!" That certainly provoked a reaction. Misery leapt up, glaring.

"I don't fear you," he ground out, and for once his deep, theatrical voice sounded flat and threatening. "No matter what shape you take, you couldn't find me to touch me. I know you think I'm helpless, just because I don't carry a giant sword like yours, some big metal cock to swing at the world, but I assure you I am far from helpless. I beat you and your sword in the training yard with no weapon and without magic; you should pray I never feel the need to truly fight you." The elf had drawn himself up, face cold and haughty, and the ready pose he took was familiar from the training yard. Misery's eyes still showed hurt, but Vilkas could feel the threat radiating from the Bosmer like a cold wind.

Vilkas' instinct was to lash out, especially at being mocked, but he paused. He knew that if he kept pressing the issue, this was going to be a real fight, and he didn't want to fight Misery. The elf was just too damn stubborn to see that he was in danger. If he opened his mouth again, they would be brawling, and that would help nobody. He threw his hands up in frustration and said "Fine! Listen or don't, as you wish. Let's get to bed. Tomorrow we clear out Mistwatch and head to Morthal." There was no response from Misery, and the two wordlessly retired to their bedrolls, the occasional pops of wood in the dying fire loud in the silence.

=

When they awoke, the elf was still clearly furious. He refused to speak, refused to look at Vilkas, just gathered his things wordlessly and waited for the signal to move out. As they walked, the silence was awkward but Vilkas was damned if he was going to be the one to say anything this time. He felt like he had gone far beyond his own comfort levels to indulge Misery, and his thanks was to almost be forced into changing shapes and then scorned and threatened. The stiff-necked mer could bloody well stew as long as he wanted. Vilkas was done indulging his theatrics. He stomped along, growing more and more irritated. Misery flowed like a ghost through the forest, but the tension was strong enough between the two of them that it made the previous morning seem like a stroll in the garden. Every time he glanced at the elf, the set jaw and glaring eyes pointed into the underbrush made it clear that Misery would rather be anywhere else with anyone else. Vilkas began to worry a bit about Mistwatch, because the way that keep was laid out, they needed to work together. It was a real fortress, not some tumbledown ruin, and the Imperials were idiots to abandon it. He almost spoke several times, thinking to discuss strategy, but each time the tense, angry bearing of the elf made him decide 'to hell with it'. He hoped there were a decent number of bandits, though; after this sort of start to the day, killing sounded like a good idea.

It was almost noon when they approached the fortress. He turned to Misery and said "So, we need to..." and without a word, the elf held up a hand which flickered green and just... vanished. He watched as a leaf moved and realized the Bosmer was invisible and moving at top speed toward the fortress. Vilkas ran after, cursing, knowing that he was making too much noise but not caring. The guard at the gate came running out and a shimmer of magic appeared as Misery faded out of the cloud of unseeing, and before Vilkas could catch up to them the guard was caught by Misery, swung round by one arm and slammed headfirst into the wall. As he collapsed bonelessly into a heap, another bandit appeared and Misery faded again. The newcomer looked around puzzled, until suddenly Misery appeared behind him, levered the shocked bandit over his shoulder and flung him headfirst into the cobblestones. More and more bandits were drawn to the fray, and Vilkas just stood with his mouth hanging open as Misery whirled in the center of a storm of bandits. It was like the fight with Uthgerd, but where that was impressive, this was an entirely different level of skill on display. The more the bandits struck at him, the quicker he moved, and more than one bandit was taken out by the sword of one of their companions. Finally only one was left and he tried to run away, only to reach the top of the steps and slip and fall to his death.

Misery slowed, finally, looking at the bloody pile of corpses in the courtyard. As Vilkas came through the gate, ready to call out, he saw the elf shake his head before stepping through the door into the keep. It was unheard of that anyone could do that, let alone do that in plain cloth without armor. Vilkas had to admit that the elf's comments of the night before didn't seem so arrogant any more; he had never seen a display of combat prowess like this before. He followed the Bosmer through the door, not bothering to be quiet. After what just happened, he strongly suspected that he was in no danger, but if Misery found trouble, he would hear the conflict before anyone involved heard him. Sure enough, in the first room were two bandits, still bleeding out from wounds they had clearly inflicted on each other. As he went up a circular staircase, he heard shouting echoing down the stairs, but he recognized the same quality from these sounds as he had heard outside. As he walked a trickle of blood began to flow past him down the stairs. The blood traced back to the body of an orc warrior, a powerful looking brute, who had apparently been flung down the steps and crushed his head into the stone wall. He remembered Farkas' offhanded comment 'oh no, he can fight' in dismay. Was this the sort of display Misery had put on in Dustman's Cairn? And Farkas hadn't bothered to say 'oh yes, Vilkas, I didn't even have to lift my sword, he killed everything and everyone by flinging them around like rags and convincing them to kill each other'? He and his brother needed to have a serious talk about what needed to be said and what omitted. Be mad at Farkas, he told himself, don't think about this. It didn't work, though. He had known it wouldn't.

At the top of the stairs there was a man, standing, staring at an open door with an expression of mixed confusion and hope. He looked to be a farmer. Dirt ground under nails that would never again be clean, tattered and mended clothes, muddy shoes and a shady hat, he belonged in a field in the sun, not standing in some fortress wringing his hands. "Who the hell are you?" Vilkas demanded. There was no need to draw a weapon; Misery would have broken this man like everyone else if he was a threat, he was quite sure.

"My wife... she's a captive... the other man, he took the key, but he said... Will he... can he...?" The old man was incoherent, and Vilkas growled and pressed on, leaving the man to his meandering. Whatever brought him here clearly had nothing to do with the Jarl's bounty or Vilkas. The whole path through the second tower was the same as the first, bodies strewn about, some dead by their friends' swords, others struck down by being flung into the stone walls or floor. As he stepped out of the door, he looked up to the highest walkway to see a man run at Misery only to be shouted off the walkway and fall screaming to a messy death below.

"Misery, stop!" he called, but the elf ignored him and pressed on through the final door. By the time Vilkas had made his way up still more stairs and across the bridge, he came into a room to hear a woman cursing, Misery's voice speaking to her with the voice of a priest if ever he'd heard one, offering her consolation and advice. This must be the wife of the farmer downstairs; at least she was still alive, a bit shocking considering.

"He loves you. Even if you don't want to be with him, you must tell him. Please, he should know... it's only fair. Imagine if the one you loved vanished, and you searched. And then you learned that the person was within arm's reach, but never came to speak, never cared enough to even say it wouldn't work. Would that bring you joy or sorrow?" The elf was staring at the woman. Vilkas realized with a shock that this woman, far from being a prisoner, was the leader here. Her armor was richly carved to look like a bear's head like a Jarl's and her weapons were of high quality; she looked more like a warrior queen than a farmer's wife.

"Aye," she said sadly. "I'm a coward, aren't I?" She sighed deeply, hanging her head. "I will speak to him. I suppose I owe him at least that much." Misery placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You will be doing him a kindness, though it won't feel like it. And Mara will be pleased that her bonds are not being put so lightly aside. The gods care for such things, never doubt that." Misery sounded warm and friendly, caring, the exact opposite of everything he had been showing an hour before, and in spite of himself Vilkas felt a burst of irritation. Where had this kind, gentle soul been this morning? "Give him back his ring, and at least try to give him back his heart. You said yourself he's not a bad man, he's just not the man your soul wants." Misery shone with that light that he got sometimes, so beautiful that Vilkas' eyes itched and burned to look at him.

"I will." She looked up at Vilkas, who hadn't even drawn his greatsword. "Peace, Companion." Vilkas nodded and stepped out of the way, and the woman walked past him without a glance and closed the door. Misery walked over and sat on the bed she had been using, looking at the wall. All the peace and happiness ran out of his expression, leaving a face of pain behind.

"I will leave the Companions, I suppose." He said to the air, not looking at Vilkas. The elf's fingers twisted around each other, digging his nails into his hands almost deeply enough to draw blood.

"Why?" Vilkas was not surprised that this was the elf's opening comment, but he was mildly curious to see which reason would be dragged out first. This was the sort of dramatic foolishness that always made him angry, but after the display downstairs, he wasn't sure how he felt other than disturbed. 

Misery's lips compressed, and Vilkas was shocked to see tears running down his face. "I swore I would never do that again. I swore." The elf finally turned to look at Vilkas, and he wished that he hadn't; Misery's eyes were like open wounds, filled with suffering. "I went into the temple, and I was kind, and I was peaceful, and I never hurt anyone. I found peace. And now I can't stay in the temple and I'm out here killing again and... and..." The elf looked away, tears still streaming over his cheeks. "I never wanted to be this person again."

In spite of himself, Vilkas felt a surge of sympathy, although mixed with a hearty dose of confusion. "So you've... done this before?"

"I... yes." Misery's baritone voice was uncharacteristically small. "I hate killing now. I don't even like killing animals, let alone people. There is no beauty in this, just grief and pain. _Lokh-an_ should not be used to kill, but... here I am." His fingers, finally unclenched, began picking at the furs on the bed beside himself. "When we were at Dustman's Cairn, I didn't have to... do much. Farkas was such a good fighter. I could tell myself that, that it wasn't the same, it wasn't really me killing them if I just... weakened them a bit. But the dragon... the dragon likes killing. Enjoys it. I was so angry when I got here, and I just wanted to fight and... they're all dead now, because of me." Now Misery dissolved into full sobbing, covering his face with his long, elegant fingers. "It's my fault, it's all my fault."

Vilkas walked over slowly, feeling very uncertain, and sat on the bed next to the grieving elf. He tentatively reached out one arm and drew Misery close. "This is life in the Companions, Misery," he said, as softly as he could. "This is what we do. This is what I meant that first night. There's no beauty in this. It's no place for a gentle soul like yours." The intoxicating scent of the mer rose up around him and the wolf twitched, but he forced it back as best he could. Misery hunched against him and Vilkas found his nose buried in the mer's bronze hair. He tried to pull back but the smell was all around him, and he was embarrassed to feel himself getting aroused despite the clearly unsexual nature of the position. He cleared his throat. "I'm... sorry?" he said.

Misery shook his head, choking back tears and sniffling. Finally he composed himself but didn't pull away. "Don't be." He said quietly. "Yes, I've done this before. I was... before I joined the priesthood I was a bandit, no different from these here. I killed people and robbed them." Deep shame suffused the elf's golden skin as he stared at his own lap. "One day, we killed two people we thought were merchants, but they were refugees. They had a... a baby with them. None of us had the appetite for killing a baby. I took it to the nearest temple for aid, and... as I was looking at it, all my desire to be rich or powerful went away. That little girl changed my soul, somehow. By the time I got to the temple, I made up a story about finding the baby, but I knew then I had no interest in going back to banditry. I took odd jobs around the village, talked to the priests and, well, ended up joining the temple. I learned _lokh-an_ there, and when I took my vows I took an additional vow not to pick up weapons again." Misery sniffled, loud in the enclosed room, and wiped his nose, which made his hair fly across Vilkas' face again. He fought down the urge of the wolf to bury his nose in it and huff deeply by sheer force of will, but he wished he could stand up and escape this closeness.

"Uh..." Vilkas said awkwardly. "Why did you join the Companions, then? You knew what we did for a living. It was obvious that you would have to fight." He cursed himself for sounding so blunt, but that was the crux of it, wasn't it?

A bitter laugh was his reward. "Yes, it was. Or would have been to most people. But I was chasing my prophecy and..." suddenly Vilkas realized the elf had become very aware of his arousal. Misery continued in a throaty voice "And something else." Suddenly the scent had changed. A wave of desire almost made Vilkas' hair stand on end. This was even worse than before; he wondered desperately if he was going to have to send the elf away or run off himself, if every time they got close it would feel like this. He sprang up, almost knocking Misery over, painfully aware of his own arousal pressing against his leather pants and armor. The elf was smiling at him sensually with half-lidded eyes, despite the tear tracks still on his face and the slight disarray from crying. Suddenly, Misery caught himself in the same way that Vilkas had. "Bright Goddess of Joy, is it going to be like this every time we're within five feet of each other?" Vilkas had to laugh considering he had just thought practically the same words not five seconds before. A thought occurred to him.

"You know a good deal about magic and priestly things. Do you think it is actually us who are attracted to each other or is something... making us that way?" Vilkas asked.

"Not afraid to ask the difficult questions... one of the many things I admire about you, Vilkas," the elf responded. His face clouded over. "I wish I had an answer for that. It does seem awfully strong, but as you know, it's been a long time since I felt attraction like other people. I honestly don't know. Is it usually not like this?"

"No," Vilkas said immediately. "Not like this. When I am around someone attractive, I'm aware of it, and if, well, everyone agrees sex is going to happen, I feel it more strongly, but not like this. This isn't a gentle nudge, this is more a fist in the face." He started to sit back down on the bed, looked at Misery still half-splayed on it, and leaned against the wall instead. "Have you heard of something that would produce this sort of effect?"

"The will of Dibella," was the immediate response. "I expect any of the gods could, though mostly Dibella would, or Mara. No spell or love potion would last this long; they are usually one night in duration, and are illegal because of how they are usually used. Maybe one of the high Daedra, though we haven't come in contact with any of them as far as I know." Vilkas shook his head at the elf's look of inquiry. "Unless it's something to do with..." Misery got a strange look. "Being Dragonborn. Gods, it's still strange to think of myself that way. But I never heard of Tiber Septim or the others having some sort of pre-chosen partner or mate, have you?" Vilkas was stunned at the question; being referred to even as a potential 'mate' was a bit shocking. Finally he shook his head.

"No, no records of that. Some of the Dragonborn never married; some were libertines. But no indication of, uh, destined mates." Vilkas' head was reeling. Why would he be matched with the elf? He was attractive, certainly, but... he didn't usually even like men. Why would the gods pick him in particular? "But you know of others who have been, what, pre-joined by the gods? For what reason?"

"Well, that's an excellent question as well. In the past, it has been because they had some task to complete together. They had complimentary strengths, and both would be needed to complete some major work. Aelys and Mirwyn, who killed the Ven-Ag, or Eplear and Vissha whose marriage brought about the first great kingdom. But those were legends, not normal people." Misery looked shocked at the idea.

"Legends? You mean like the Dragonborn? Or dragons themselves?" Vilkas thought Misery was being fairly obtuse for someone as smart as he had shown himself to be. The elf's look was priceless, shock and horror warring on his face. "The prophecy you told me made it sound like you needed healing or something before you could be whole. Tell it again?"

Misery nodded and recited:

_Shadowed by the dragon's wing, the Eye now lost_  
_From beauty's temple fled, new balance sought_  
_Divided heart, divided mind, divided thought_  
_A wolf at your throat resolves all in the frost._

"You're right, 'resolves all' can mean that all those divisions are healed. Of course, it could mean I get killed by a wolf too, but that seems a lot of trouble to go to for a man to die. The wolf at... oh." Misery was standing now, looking stunned. "Can we... is there a way to go home through the mountains?"

"Aye, we can go by the High Pass, but it's still icy up there. Easier to go around like we came, why?" Vilkas was not following the logic, but he suddenly remembered something important. "Speaking of how we came, we have solved the bandit problem quite thoroughly. We need to go tell Jarl Idgrod before it gets any later." The two of them gathered up their gear and headed back down through the fortress. The farmer was gone, and Vilkas wondered for a moment if he would ever realize that his 'captive' wife was closer to Queen Potema than to Griselda the Good Wife. Shaking his head at people in general, he hastened to catch up with the light steps of the elf as they headed outside.

= 

"Come over here." Misery said, interrupting Vilkas' comments on how pleased Idgrod was and how generous she'd been. They were up in the high reaches now, snow all around, and there was a tiny cottage in front of them. Vilkas sniffed; there was no scent of smoke or people. Either the cottage was abandoned, or it was only used by the owners for hunting or some special purpose. Nobody had been there for quite some time. Now that he looked, the snow stretched pristine and unmarked around the building. Misery beckoned again from where he stood in a snowdrift, buried up to his calves. "Do me a favor and come stand with me here."

"I don't think that's a good idea, remember..." Vilkas started, but at the elf's imperative wave he shrugged and walked over. This back and forth with his own desire was getting exhausting, and he was back to thinking that asking to go out with Misery was a mistake after all. He had learned perhaps more than he wanted to on this trip.

"Now lean in and put your face at my throat." Suddenly Vilkas saw what the elf was thinking. 

"So you think I'm the wolf, eh? Well, this certainly is frosty enough." He leaned in, and the smell of Misery's skin affected him like it always did. He didn't know what he expected, but he was shocked to feel... nothing. None of the previous waves of lust or desire, no compulsions, just a normal sense of 'this is a person I'm attracted to and it's nice to be near them'. Looking up at Misery, he saw the same feeling reflected in the elf's shocked dark eyes. Even when their eyes met, there was no sense of the wolf or dragon, just two men, staring at each other across inches of space. Slowly, almost afraid to see what would happen, Vilkas leaned forward and pressed his lips against the soft red lips of the Bosmer. This was how he imagined the first kiss would be. Gentle, awkward, unbelievably soft... he leaned forward into it. Mmm, that smell... Misery was actually much more attractive without the storm of frustrated magic and beast minds swirling around them.

"Oh..." Misery said softly. Vilkas slipped his tongue out, touched the lower lip of the mer briefly, and leaned forward. Lips parted, they embraced more closely, tongues wrestling. There was a slight sense of... something unusual, he thought with the fragment of his mind that wasn't focused completely on kissing the elf. Something a little different, but nothing like the storms of power and rage before. He could feel his breath starting to speed up, his heart beating faster as he realized that this wasn't something to worry about doing. No, this was pretty damn enjoyable. His hands slipped around Misery's sides, pressing against the round, shapely ass under the traveling clothes. The elf moaned and pressed the length of his body against Vilkas, turning his head slightly. This time when the dark eyes opened they were glazed with lust and desire. "This is... gods yes, this is so much better. Let's go inside." Vilkas nodded and together they tramped through the snow to the door and forced it open.

Inside, Vilkas was pleased to see a small, spartan hunting cabin. This was clearly no abandoned shack, about to fall in, and nothing had nested here. A dusty bed covered in furs, a clean fireplace with a stack of wood beside it, a stool and a rack for drying clothes. He was about to grab Misery and start up again, but the elf was already laying a fire in the fireplace. Before he could even ask, a quick _YOL_ from Misery set the stack alight. When the elf turned around, the seductive look on his face left Vilkas totally breathless. "Now," Misery said, low voice throbbing, "let me show you some things." Vilkas nodded dumbly. The elf peeled off his tunic in one sinuous movement, standing in front of him wearing only a sheer shift, backlit by the fire. The silver rose pendant glowed softly at his throat. The heat from the fire was beginning to push back the cold, and Vilkas began to unbuckle his armor before the mer's long fingers stopped him. "Let me," was all that was said, but then skilled fingers worked the various buckles and removed the breastplate, shoulder pieces, thigh guards... as the mer's clever fingers slid them off, Vilkas felt a series of light touches sliding over whichever part of the body the armor covered. Eyes watching each other, the elf knelt before him, unbuckling his greaves, sliding his fingers over the leather-covered thighs then down again to the calves as he slid the boots off along with the steel plates mounted to the front of them. 

As if in a dream, Vilkas' fingers stretched out and slid through that long, bronze-blond hair, and it was as soft and luxurious under his fingertips as he had ever thought it might be. Still, even with his lust about to overwhelm him, Vilkas felt none of the pressure from before. There was still that sense of something other, not quite the usual wolf but not completely different, hovering, but he knew his desire was his own and that made comfort with this possible. Misery slid Vilkas' tunic off, leaving him in only his pants, and ran his fingers gently down his chest, playing with the thick black hair that grew there, rubbing his tiny pebbled nipples, sliding along the ribs and corded muscles, humming softly to himself. "I want..." was all Vilkas was able to choke out. Long fingers drifted across his lips shushing him before dark eyes seized his attention.

"I dedicate the pleasure of this time to my Lady Dibella Eltriel, queen of joy...." Misery said softly, his voice seeming to echo slightly. His fingers slid gently in a caress across Vilkas' cheek. "...and beauty. Will you share your joy with her as well?"

"Aye," was all he could think to say. He couldn't remember the last time he had wanted anyone this badly. No sooner had he spoken than he felt Misery's fingers at his waist, unfastening his breeches and sliding them down. His cock bobbed free, so hard it was painful for the second time that day. Misery smiled, dark eyes widening.

"All this for me," he breathed, and leaning forward, slid his lips along the thick vein on the bottom from the base up to the tip. A wet tongue was felt more than seen and Vilkas tensed almost painfully at the amazing sensation. This was far beyond anything he had experienced before in his quick ruts with tavern girls and whores. Misery turned his cheek slightly and dragged the bristles of his goatee along the length, returning back to the top and sliding his lips around the crown and pushing back the foreskin with his lips. Vilkas' hands tangled in that thick hair, urging his head back and forth. The hot, pliant wetness of the elf's mouth was overwhelming, so good. Misery continued for a minute or two, overwhelming him with pleasure. He knew he wasn't going to last long, it had been too long and he had been too worked up, too excited. To think he questioned if he could find a man attractive! This was incredible, he thought dazedly. Before he knew what was happening, the elf had pulled his lips away from the warrior's cock and pushed him back onto the bed. Lying there, he watched in amazement as Misery pulled off his undershift and slipped off his trousers. With one quick, practiced motion, he removed the silver ring holding back his hair and shook it down.

Misery's hair was long and thick, curling like a woman's hair, pouring like a bronze-blond flood across his shoulders. Below that beautiful face, a slender neck, still encircled by the silver rose, slid into strong shoulders and muscular slim arms. His smooth golden skin glowed in the firelight. Misery's chest was smooth and also muscular, only a thin line of hair trailing from between his wide pectorals down across his navel and fanning slightly wider into his pubes. His ribs were clearly visible, but he was more slim than skinny. It was a little shocking to Vilkas to see a sizeable hard cock and heavy balls where he was used to a slit, but it was impossible to deny the sheer beauty of the body in front of him. A rounded, beautiful ass that wouldn't be out of place on a woman tapered into muscular thighs, and slender, lovely calves. Once again he felt the wolf stirring, but lazily, like it was half asleep and stretching. Vilkas and his wolf were united in pleasure with the sights, the smells, the experience of this. Misery climbed onto the bed and straddled Vilkas, slender legs flanking narrow hips, leaning down to kiss him lazily. His hands traced along Vilkas' sides, feeling like they were leaving trails of fire and ice in their wake. The elf knelt over Vilkas and pressed his ass back into the warrior's groin but held his upper body erect, stretching out his arms above his head.

"Lady of Joy, thank you for this. I have wanted this for so long," said Misery, and before Vilkas could even fathom what was happening, the elf sank back onto the warrior's cock and impaled himself. The sudden shocking warmth of the inside of the mer's body was overwhelming. Misery's face was shining in rapture, and the flickering firelight traced him in glowing edges so that he looked almost daedric, not material at all. With a rush and a roar, Vilkas felt the wolf exploding into his consciousness. He would have been terrified but there was nowhere to go now. He never changed during sex, he thought dazedly, but realized that if he did there was nothing to be done for it. Flooding through him, the wild energy surged and rushed, sparking at the connection between his body and Misery's. The elf was clearly in the same situation, face rapt and flickers of different emotions racing across it too quickly to be identified. Two opposing forces met, writhed, fought, joined. The power spiked, then again, each time more and more, cresting higher and higher. Vilkas couldn't even feel frightened any more, the pleasure growing so strong that he felt like lightning was playing through his body. Misery's hands were on his chest, and everywhere their skin touched felt like it was burning. "Almost..." he heard Misery say, as if from a distance. "So close..." Suddenly everything stopped and there was an almost physical 'click'; it felt like the room was frozen in time. What looked like spiraling stars swirled around them, and Vilkas wasn't sure if he was seeing them or hallucinating. There stopped being a separate sense of 'the dragon' and 'the wolf'. Everything blended into one being, dragon/wolf, Misery/Vilkas, two halves of a whole that didn't know they were missing something until the other was suddenly there. Then they were both swept up in an orgasm that went on and on, pounding, pulsing, pouring until he thought he might die of the pleasure of it all. A circle of light swirled around them, shining, and was gone. Misery gasped and twitched where he was lying on Vilkas' chest, the moisture of his spilled seed tying them together.

"Are you... alright?" Vilkas stammered. "What just happened?"

The elf sat back slowly, and Vilkas realized from the sensation that he was still embedded in... well, then. Misery's black eyes were still unfocused looking, but the elf shook his head and said "I don't... I think we are officially mated. I wasn't expecting... any of that." Mated? Vilkas thought. Just the thought seemed right though; there was no way that pyrotechnic display meant anything else. At that thought, others came into mind. His familiar sense of brooding unhappiness seemed faded, almost completely gone; there was a sense of comfort, of rightness, from being near Misery that he had never felt before. Normally he was disgusted after sex, or at least eager to get away, but this time he felt only peace and affection and... well, it was early to say love, but definitely headed in that direction. "I'm sorry," Misery said. "I didn't mean to..."

"Shh", Vilkas said, kissing the elf's lips and stopping the words with his mouth. "That was the most amazing experience of my life. I don't ever want to hear 'I'm sorry' for that. I'm not. At all." He could feel the comfort of being near the other man, pressed against him, feeling his heartbeat against his chest under the cold spot that was the silver rose. This was what he had been missing. Misery whined briefly, then snuggled down into Vilkas' chest, wrapping his arms around the other man. "We'll figure it out. Later." The elf nodded sleepily with a sigh. With a surge of protectiveness, Vilkas wrapped his arms around the slender body on top of him and drifted off as well.


End file.
